
FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER 





























































•v 

>« 

' I 

■ « A 













I ■: 



■j, 


✓ • 






/ 




IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


BOOKS BY FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER 


TDl. S. Service Series 

Illustrated. Large i2mo. Cloth. Price $1.75 each. 

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SURVEY 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FORESTERS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. CENSUS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FISHERIES 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. INDIANS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. EXPLORERS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. MAIL 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. WEATHER MEN 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. NATURALISTS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. TRAPPERS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. INVENTORS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SECRET SERVICE 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. MINERS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. DIPLOMATS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. RADIO 
THE BOY WITH THE AM. RED CROSS 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. MARINES 
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. NAVY 


/IDuseum Series 

Illustrated. Large i2mo. Cloth. Price $1.75 each. 

THE MONSTER-HUNTERS 
THE POLAR HUNTERS 
THE AZTEC-HUNTERS 
THE WRECK-HUNTERS 
THE SAHARA HUNTERS 
THE GEM-HUNTERS 
HUNTERS OF OCEAN DEPTHS 
THE NEWS-HUNTERS 
THE TUSK-HUNTERS 


THE WONDER OF WAR IN THE AIR 

THE WONDER OF WAR ON LAND 

THE WONDER OF WAR AT SEA 

THE WONDER OF WAR IN THE HOLY LAND 

Illustrated, Large i2mo. Cloth. Price $1.75 each. 

THE BOYS’ BOOK OF THE WORLD WAR 

Illustrated. Large 12mo. Cloth. Price $2.50. 

THE BOOK OF COWBOYS 

Illustrated. Large i2mo. Cloth. Price $2.00. 

IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Illustrated. Large i2mo. Cloth. Price $2.00. 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 










A SWORD THAT SEEMED ALIVE, GLEAMING LIKE THE LIGHTNING 

ITSELF.— Page 169. 





IN THE TIME OF 

ATTILA 


BY 

FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

FRANK T. MERRILL 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


I, 0 . 











Copyright, 1928, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All rights reserved 
IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


PRINTED IN U. S. A. 

SEP 19 1928 

©Cl M 0 5 4 5 9 3 




PREFACE 


Wilder man, more furious fighter, and more 
sensational conqueror never swept across the 
pages of a bloody history than Attila the Hun. 
To all time, his name remains a memory of fire 
and of slaughter. ‘‘The Scourge of God,’’ as he 
called himself, he became a demon of carnage ' 
and a creature of dread. 

Of his life, but little is known. In the fol¬ 
lowing story, every historical incident has 
been taken from the original Greek and Latin 
sources. All the personages in the tale, save 
two, are historical characters. 

To throw sharp light upon one of the most 
lurid pages of history, to set the thrill of battle 
and the mystery of hectic intrigue into simple 
form, to show the wild dash of the savage and 
barbarous Huns, and to blaze anew that World 
Trail of sword and fire which reached from 
China into Western Europe, is the aim and pur¬ 
pose of 

The Author 


5 




CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER I 

A Strange Oath.11 

CHAPTER II 

The Lure of Fame.36 

CHAPTER III 

A Cunning Scout.61 

CHAPTER IV 

Fighting an Aurochs.82 

CHAPTER V 

A Shameful Triumph.102 

CHAPTER VI 

A Night of Treachery.129 

CHAPTER VII 

The Flaming Sword.147 

CHAPTER VIII 

Daring the Dying.174 

CHAPTER IX 

The Poisoned Goblet.190 


r 


7 











8 


CONTENTS 


PAQB 


CHAPTER X 

One Armlet Gone. 200 

CHAPTER XI 

A Traitor’s Doom.220 

CHAPTER XII 

The Princess’ Ring. 239 

CHAPTER XIII 

The Decisive Battle. 259 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Death Bride. 284 







ILLUSTRATIONS 

A sword that seemed alive, gleaming like the 
lightning itself (Page 169) . . Frontispiece 

FACINa 

PAGE 

* * Chief Attila, pass me three of your armlets! ’ ^ . 28 

“Where a queen of the Goths goes afoot, no Goth 


is shamed to go af(^ot ^ ’.124 

“You dare to call yourself ‘The Scourge of God/ 

By Him shall you be scourged. Look in the 
sky and tremble!’’.. . 290 


9 







IN THE TIME OF 
ATTILA 

/ 


CHAPTER I 

A STRANGE OATH 

‘‘ ‘Who grooms Attila’s horse shall ride 
Attila’s horse!’ ” 

The prophecy rang over and over again in 
the ears of Goderedd, the Goth horse boy, as 
he rolled over on the wet hay and sleepily 
opened his eyes. He could scarcely believe that 
the cloaked figure that had dropped the words 
in his ear, as he was going to sleep the night 
before, was not part of a dream. But no, all had 
been too clear for that. 

Dawn came noisily and harshly to the camp 
of the Huns. The light, 'rushing up the eastern 
sky over the Cossack steppes and the marshy 
waste-land shores of the Black Sea, showed 


12 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Attila^s camp in all its disorder, dirt, and 
savagery. 

It showed some two hundred tents pitched 
here and there about the ground, without any 
pretense of regularity or plan. Horses were 
picketed on long heel-ropes, and all the baggage 
litter of an undisciplined camp lay helter-skelter 
on the muddy and sodden ground. It had rained 
shortly before daylight, and the ashes of last 
night ^s fires were black and cold. 

Lean dogs barked hungrily, horses whinnied 
and kicked at each other, gawky roosters 
crowed, some Bactrian camels bubbled with the 
quarrelsomeness of their breed, and, from the 
outskirts of the camp, came the far bleating 
of sheep and goats, stolen and driven to camp 
the day before, for the Hun host must be fed. 

Some of the tents were but three horse-hides 
sewn together; others were strips of discarded 
finery draped upon curved sticks. There were 
Bedouin tents from Asia Minor, of woven goats’ 
hair, black, or in long strips of gray and black, 
sprawling and rangy, not a yard high at their 
sides and so low that, even in the middle, a 
dwarfish Hun could not stand upright. A few 
were well-made tents of Eoman canvas, taken 


A STRANGE OATH 


13 


in some raid as part of the camp spoil. There 
were almost a score of small Kirghiz ‘^yourts’’ 
from Central Asia, with a demountable wooden 
frame, sides of felted camels’ hair, roofed with 
tanned pony-skins, and weather-proof. 

Not that all the savage warriors had spent 
the night under shelter; the starshine of the 
evening before had given no hint of storm. A 
good half of th^ Huns lay stretched upon the 
ground, their sheepskin saddles for their pil¬ 
lows, and their weapons—axes, swords, and 
javelins—^by their sides. 

Their costumes were as varied as their tents. 
A few of the men—the older warriors, mostly— 
wore long sleeveless coats of felted goats’ hair, 
woven with a double weave, the long harsh hairs 
hanging downward, strong and slippery enough 
to turn a glancing sword-blow; over these were 
laced breastplate girdles of horse-hide studded 

with nails. There were Kipchaks in black baggy 
trousers, and Ifghiz in coarse white wool and 
leg-length hoots. 

A fair proportion were dressed in a mixture 
of motley garments, stolen or pillaged in many 
a bloody raid. Some appeared as Greeks in 
belted cloaks and Boeotian sandals, their Mon- 


14 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

gol-like faces appearing all the more hideous 
in this garb; many had pieces of Roman armor, 
but dinted, battered, and rusty; not a few were 
clad in leather as rustic Thracians; several 
wore skins of furs taken from the Northern 
Goths; and there were those, also, who had the 
bedizened remnants of what were once richly 
colored silken robes, hut tattered, bedraggled, 
and spotted with dirt and bloodstains. All, save 
those who wore the old Hun costume, looked 
as savage as tawdry barbarians aping the man¬ 
ners of civilization. 

There were but few women in the tents, for 
the Huns did not march as did the Goths, a 
nation at a time, taking all their women and 
possessions with them. The Huns rode in reck¬ 
less disarray, slew when there was any one to 
slay, stole where there was anything to steal, 
gorged when there was aught to eat, and slept 
at will, with utter disregard as to whether 
sleeping-time were daylight or dark. 

Such was the camp of young Attila, at this 
time, when he was nothing more than a pred¬ 
atory blood-brigand like his ancestors. The 
juvenile chief had not joined the army of his 
uncle Ruas the third king of the Huns, for he 


A STRANGE OATH 


15 

was, in some measure, an outlaw. His father, 
Mnndzuk, and his uncle Orta, had been denied 
their share of the kingdom, seized by the cold 
and cruel Ruas. Mundzuk had died and Orta 
had been killed by Attila, his own nephew. This 
murder had occurred during a raid on a Tartar 
camp. The Tartars had resisted, and Orta had 
given the order to retreat. Attila, enraged at 
such an order, had driven his sword through 
his uncle’s back, rallied the savage warriors, 
and carried the Tartar camp by storm. That 
was a year before, when Attila was only seven¬ 
teen years old. 

Some four hundred warriors had followed 
Attila into outlawry, if that could be called 
following which was merely a disorderly clus¬ 
tering around a self-appointed leader, whose 
only claims to leadership were an extraordi¬ 
nary magnetic power, a savage blood-lust, and 
a reckless daring which made him risk any¬ 
thing for the sake of spoil. 

When there was food or plunder to be found, 
the Huns raided, slaughtered, ate, and slept; 
only to plunder and slay, and then to eat and 
sleep again. When all the region had been 
stricken bare of food, when the direst torture 


i6 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


could elicit no further treasure, then, at a given 
moment, night or day, the Huns would break 
forth, strike camp, and ride on furiously. Little 
they cared where they rode, .so that they should 
find folk to slaughter, clothing or furs to steal, 
grain or herds to seize for food. They knew 
nothing of agriculture, cared only for the chase, 
and lived on pillage secured by callous murder. 

The Huns of the fifth century, who had come 
down in ever-increasing hordes from Asia into 
Europe during the half-century before, resem¬ 
bled nothing so much as a pack of human wolves, 
thirsting for blood and spoil. They settled in 
no country, organized no government, built no 
cities, did not a single moment’s good to any 
living soul; the terror which they spread was 
largely due to their utter barbarity and to a 
fanatic disregard of death. 

The Greeks or Early Byzantines of the East¬ 
ern Roman Empire feared them more than the 
pestilence; the Romans of the Western Roman 
Empire hated them; the Goths added a super¬ 
stitious repulsion to their warlike hostility, 
believing these Asiatic dwarfs to be a race of 
demons from the Underworld. These three men¬ 
tal attitudes explain why the Byzantines were 


A STRANGE OATH 


17 

ever ready to buy off Hun attacks by paying 
heavy tribute; why the Romans were ever 
ready to fight them; and why whole tribes of 
the Goths—who, at this time, occupied all North¬ 
ern Europe and Western Russia—accepted un¬ 
willingly the overlordship of these swarthy 
and vindictive savages, who came from some 
far point of the as yet unknown continent of 
Asia. 

Goderedd the Goth, Goderedd the horse boy, 
asleep among the horses, yawned as the day¬ 
light grew stronger, and rolled to a sitting 
position. Fair-haired, blue-eyed, sinewy of 
build for all his fourteen years, he already 
topped the greater number of the squat, full- 
grown Hun warriors. He hated them, just as 
they hated him, but he took good care not to 
show it. 

Even Attila’s precarious chieftainship would 
not be enough to save his horse boy from hav¬ 
ing his skull split in two, did Goderedd chance 
to arouse a Hun’s beast-madness in a quarrel. 
The boy was no match for a Hun, perhaps he 
never would be; even the stalwart axmen 
and swordsmen of the Goths, men who towered 
a head and shoulders over their short but ter- 


i8 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

rible foes, knew that they met their fighting 
equals in a Hun. A century of savage warfare, 
day in, day out, from the farthest bounds of 
Tartary to the frontiers of Western Europe, 
had effectually weeded out all the weaklings, 
and the Huns under young Attila were the 
scarred dog-wolves of a fighting pack. 

The Goth boy’s first action on awakening 
showed his racial difference from his Asiatic 
camp-fellows. He strolled to the stream near 
by, and, throwing off his fringed tunic, sluiced 
himself to the waist with cold water. 

No Hun would have done so; no Hun ever 
washed. They gloried in having black caked 
blood on their hands and arms, and grumbled 
that the times were dull if there were no more 
fighting before the dried blood had worn away. 

His rough wash finished, Goderedd put on 
his tunic again, it was his only garment, saun¬ 
tered back, took Attila’s favorite horse to the 
stream, groomed it carefully with a rough comb 
of horn and a wisp of hay, then picketed the 
animal anew. 

Two other boys,, Huns, who looked after the 
spare horses of Attila, taunted him with his 
cleanliness, just as they mocked him for his 


A STRANGE OATH 


19 

long fair hair and water-eyes.’’ Certainly, the 
blue eyes of the Goth were in striking contrast 
to the black, slanting eyes of the Huns, just 
as his slightly waving locks differed from the 
lanky strings of ever-greasy hair that draggled 
on a Hun’s shoulders. 

‘‘How dirty must a Goth be, to have to wash 
so much!” said one of the boys. 

Goderedd kept his temper. 

“A horse is no worse for being groomed,” 
said he. 

“Let me comb your back, then!” was the 
Hun’s retort. He would have liked nothing 
better than to score the white skin with deep 
scratches, and to see the blood run. 

“Yours needs it more. It would be less work 
to scratch it!” Goderedd replied, good-hu¬ 
moredly. 

This silenced the first boy, but the other re¬ 
torted : 

“One good horse will buy three Goth slaves.” 

Goderedd colored with anger and did not 
trust himself to answer. It was a point on which 
he was extremely sensitive. His silence was 
taken for cowardice, and the two Hun boys 
pelted him with stones as he walked away. 


20 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


Not that Goderedd was a slave, nor held ex¬ 
actly as a prisoner. The Goths—the Eastern 
groups, such as the Ostrogoths and the Gepids 
—^had become the allies of the Huns. For three 
centuries, ever since the conquest of Gaul by the 
Eomans, Goths had come in enormous numbers 
into the empire, first as slaves, then as prison¬ 
ers, afterwards as free citizens, and, at the time 
of this story, had become the fighting backbone 
of the empire. 

Besides this, a huge Gothic kingdom had 
been established by Ermaneric, with a capital 
somewhere between the sites of Warsaw and 
Moscow, but, though Ermaneric counted at least 
half a million warriors scattered far and wide 
under his banner, they were unorganized and 
the Gothic Kingdom had been seized by the 
Huns, under Balamber, Attila’s great-grand¬ 
father, sixty years before. The Huns, in hordes 
of thousands and tens of thousands at a time, 
crossed the passes of the Ural Mountains or 
swarmed over the steppes, forming an ever- 
increasing flood which burst upon Ermaneric 
and defeated all his armies in a series of pitched 
battles. Ermaneric was slain, or, according to 


A STRANGE OATH 


21 


another tradition, had both arms and legs cut 
off and lived, a limbless trunk, for forty years 
thereafter. 

The migrations of the Huns continued, cre¬ 
ating the first World Trail between Asia and 
Europe, building up an empire which stretched 
from Mongolia to France, only to fall to pieces 
and disappear on the death of Attila. During 
this hundred and three years of Hunnish power, 
there were at least as many Goths as Huns ac¬ 
knowledging an Asiatic king. They were sub¬ 
ject peoples, but they were not slaves. 

Goderedd walked away slowly, ignoring the 
stones his comrades flung at him, pondering es¬ 
pecially who the stranger could be who, at dusk, 
had said to him in the Gothic tongue: 

‘‘Who grooms Attila’s horse shall ride At- 
tilla^s horse.’’ 

The prophecy was startling enough in itself, 
though Goderedd had sense enough to see that 
it might not mean all that it implied. The camp 
of the Huns was full of rude wizards and sooth¬ 
sayers, who made prophecies from the mark¬ 
ings on the charred blade-bones of beasts 
thrown into the fire, and the boy knew that these 


22 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

augurs always worded their rough oracles in 
a form which could be understood in half a 
dozen different ways. He would have liked to 
speak to Attila about it, but the character of the 
prophecy was such as to make it seem a thing 
he had better keep to himself. Nothing was eas¬ 
ier to awake than the jealousy of a Hun, and, 
in those wild times, chief might become prisoner 
overnight, and prisoner, chief. 

Goderedd had no fear of Attila—save during 
the Hun^s attacks of rage, when all men trem¬ 
bled—for the chieftain had treated him with 
marked kindness. The lad had been taken pris¬ 
oner a few months before in a Hun raid on a 
small party of the Goths encamped for the 
night, during a long journey southwards from 
the Baltic. 

Orfrida, the mother of Goderedd, had been 
slain in the first charge, and Attila, himself, 
had cut down the Hun slayer of Goderedd’s 
mother. Attila’s motive, perhaps, had been due 
to jealous anger, for Orfrida was a woman of 
great beauty and an Amaling—^that is to say, 
of the Gothic royal line, but the boy, naturally, 
had never even imagined that the Hun might 
have had evil designs upon his mother. He re- 


A STRANGE OATH 


23 


membered, only, that Attila had avenged her 
death, and, therefore, he gave to the chief his 
ready devotion and allegiance. 

There had been murmurs in the camp when 
Attila made the young Goth his leading horse 
boy and had given him the care of his favorite 
steed—a very signal honor. But the Huns kept 
their grumbling to themselves; they knew that 
the man who murmured openly against Attila 
would be sent to find his reasons in the Land of 
the Dead. Though but eighteen years old, At¬ 
tila had proved over and over again that he 
knew how to command and to back his com¬ 
mands with his own blade. The wolf-leader of 
a wolf-pack, he held his chieftainship by sheer 
fighting power. 

So, thinking deeply over the prophecy and 
wondering what it might mean, Goderedd trav¬ 
ersed the untidy camp and passed over the low 
ridge, on the other side of which Attila had 
pitched his tent. 

Coming to himself with a start, the boy 
rubbed his eyes in surprise. 

Beside the rough but substantial ‘^yourt” of 
Attila rose a pavilion, white and blue, of fine 
material, the tent-poles gilded, the curtains at 


24 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

the entrance deep-fringed with golden tassels. It 
had not been there the night before. Such a tent 
Goderedd had never seen, though he had heard 
the Huns talk of such. Surely this must be a 
messenger from King Ruas, and for what rea¬ 
son but war! 

Goderedd quickened his steps to learn the 
news. To his thinking, war was a thousandfold 
better than these petty raidings with a hungry 
stomach three days in the week, followed by a 
night-slaughter, an orgy, and a division of the 
spoil, of which none came to him. 

The boy had not taken many steps along the 
ridge, in the direction of Attila’s tent, when 
the same stranger whom he had seen at dusk, 
the night before, came out of the pavilion tent, 
and raised his arms in apparent adoration, just 
as the sun rose above the Eastern horizon. The 
evening before, the stranger had been cloaked, 
and Goderedd had noted nothing of him save 
his great height; this morning, the stranger was 
magnificently robed, with a curious square¬ 
shaped head-dress which seemed to be glitter¬ 
ing with jewels. 

Goderedd stopped instinctively. Like many of 
the Goths, he was a Christian, for the larger 


A STRANGE OATH 25 

part of the Goths had been converted, fifty years 
before, by the famous bishop Ulfilas. Ulfilas was 
an Arian Christian, that is to say, he differed 
on some points of doctrine from the orthodox 
teachings of Constantinople and Rome. Conse¬ 
quently, to the Romans, the Goths were hated 
heretics. Two hundred years of warfare hinged 
on this religious hatred, and the history of the 
Huns and Goths is bound up with it. 

At the sound of the stranger’s chanting, At- 
tila came out from his ^^yourt.” He was short 
of build, with a disproportionately muscular 
chest and an enormous head. His hands hung to 
his knees. His face was very dark, the eyes 
deep-set and slanting, and he had a trick of 
lifting his upper lips in a snarl, showing his 
yellow teeth. He walked with a positive and 
proud step, but his glances darted restlessly 
and suspiciously in every direction. His chief 
characteristic was an aura of power, which sur¬ 
rounded him like a magnetic field. He was 
dressed, like most of his warriors, in the sleeve¬ 
less goat-hair robe, but his arms were covered 
with rude bronze armlets, and his breastplate 
was encrusted with silver. This breastplate was 
a piece of spoil from some tribal raid, and orig- 


26 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


inally, no doubt, bad been stripped from the 
body of some dead general belonging to the 
Eastern Emperor’s army. 

Goderedd advanced a little way, then hesi¬ 
tated, then advanced again. Should he dare to 
approach Attila, now in conversation with the 
stranger? But his orders were to report, every 
day, at sunrise, and Attila did not permit dis¬ 
obedience. He went boldly forward, salaamed 
with hand on forehead, and made his usual re¬ 
port concerning the chief’s favorite horse. 

Attila listened to the boy’s words carelessly, 
and nodded him away. But the stranger inter¬ 
vened. 

‘^You spoke of Goderedd, the Goth, last night, 
Chief Attila. Is this the boy?” 

There was an inflection in the words that set 
Goderedd’s heart astir. He looked frankly at 
the stranger, but took good heed to show no 
sign of recognition. 

“It is the boy,” said Attila. 

^ ‘ I have seen him already, as I told you. But 
I had no chance to speak to him.” 

Goderedd understood the stranger’s refer¬ 
ence. The words which had been spoken, the 
night before, were to be kept a secret from At- 


A STRANGE OATH 


27 

tila. But lie was even more surprised by the new¬ 
comer’s next sentence. 

‘‘While you were watering Chief Attila’s 
horse, this morning,’’ the stranger went on, “a 
boy of the Huns called you a slave.” 

The young Goth started. How could the 
stranger know? 

“A true saying. Most Noble,” he answered, 
not knowing what title to use. 

“It was a snake-word,” declared the new¬ 
comer, who was dressed as a Persian mage. 
“There is no Hun in all Chief Attila’s follow¬ 
ing who is less a slave than Goderedd. Chief 
Attila, pass me three of your armlets!” 

He held out his hand imperiously. 

Though the mage had only come to the camp 
the evening before, he had spent the greater 
part of the night in counsel with Attila, reveal¬ 
ing himself as Mirkhond, former chief coun¬ 
selor of the great emperor Theodosius. In a 
few short hours he had established a mental 
mastery over the barbarian Hun, for Mirkhond 
was statesman, counselor, mage, and astrologer, 
and experienced in the ways of courts and kings. 
He had convinced Attila that a future of world- 
power lay before him, and the Hun’s insensate 


28 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


ambition had greedily devoured the prophecy. 

So great had been the impression that Mirk- 
hond had made upon Attila in a single night, 
that the Hun chieftain made no objection to 
the mage’s strange demand, but took three arm- 
lets from his arm, tugging them oft roughly, and 
placed them in the Persian’s hand. 

Mirkhond beckoned Goderedd forward, and, 
one after the other, slipped the heavy bronze 
rings upon the boy’s arm. The Hun stared in 
mute astonishment. His own armlets given to 
a Goth horse boy, and that even without his 
asking! 

‘‘Let Chief Attila hear, and let you, Goder¬ 
edd, hear,” declared Mirkhond, in tones which 
vibrated gravely. “These three armlets signify 
three lives. So long as the three lawful sons of 
Chief Attila be living, Goderedd, it shall be 
your duty to stay beside them, to guard them, 
to fight for them, if necessary to die for them. 
If one son die, take otf one of these armlets that 
I have given you, and bury it in the grave of a 
son of Attila; so, too, for the second and the 
third. Should you die first, let the three armlets 
be buried with you, to show that you have been 
faithful to your trust. ’ ’ 



“Chief Attila, pass me three of your armlets! “ 

Page 27. 


"yVV*/ « ^ ‘'iN't ' '-*■ 

M?'. - ' ■■ ■ ■ • -■'►■■•’ '^ .^? -”■ * V, >•■,,,. ^ 


j * ‘i ■ ' '* *1 j 


;■ ■':■ ■• ' 
\fy .1^ ^ 



K-A'^ 

^ . 1 ,,. \fi^%'..VL: ' ■ ‘ . 


?r .^ t 


* i- 




.^y:f\y yr.- '^m 


















A STRANGE OATH 


29 

Goderedd stared at Attila, and Attila at 
Mirkhond. They formed a strange group to¬ 
gether. Mirkhond, tall and very straight, with 
handsome features and a fairly long, but well- 
trimmed black beard slightly streaked with 
gray, superbly dressed in embroidered robes 
and jeweled head-dress; Attila, short, hercu¬ 
lean, flat-nosed, slant-eyed, with high cheek¬ 
bones and a lower jaw both large and pointed, 
dressed as a Hun in goat-hair cloak and nail- 
studded leather cap, unadorned save for the 
stolen breastplate; Goderedd, well-built for all 
his youthful age, big-boned, big-handed,' blue¬ 
eyed, and fair of skin, with wavy hair coming to 
his shoulders, which it was his special pride to 
keep in order. The boy showed his royal birth, 
though, because of pride, he kept his knowledge 
of it secret; both Attila and Mirkhond knew 
that the lad was of the princely line of the Ama- 
lings, but they thought that he did not know. 

The dominant character of the three was 
Mirkhond. He was not a leader of men, but a 
master of the leaders of men, which is not at 
all the same thing. He held control of the 
strange scene. 

‘^Do you make an oath, Goderedd T’ he asked 


30 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

authoritatively. ‘^Remember your mother’s 
death! ’ ’ 

The memory stirred the Goth boy’s fidelity 
to Attila, though the idea of linking his life 
permanently to the Huns was not much to his 
liking. But the avenger of his mother should 
not find him slow to gratitude, and Mirkhond 
was not a man easily to be withstood. 

‘Tt is an oath!” agreed Goderedd. swear 
it on the Four Gospels!” 

Blood of a black dog!” swore Attila. ‘^Your 
words ride fast, Mirkhond!” 

‘‘That should please a Hun,” replied Mirk¬ 
hond, with a grave smile. 

Attila was, in a measure, staggered by the 
mage’s coolness. The young chief was not mar¬ 
ried, nor, as yet, had he any immediate inten¬ 
tion of taking a legal wife. The precision of 
Mirkhond’s prediction that he should have three 
lawful sons seemed to assure the realization of 
his inmost hopes, but he could not understand 
the mage’s choice of a Goth as the guardian of 
children not yet born. 

Despite the power that Mirkhond had al¬ 
ready secured over Attila by his evident knowl¬ 
edge and statecraft, the chieftain of the Huns 


A STRANGE OATH 


31 


was naturally suspicious rather than credulous. 
The thought ran through his cunning mind that 
nothing was easier for a magician than to 
prophesy events so many years in advance that 
there could be no immediate proof of their ful¬ 
fillment ; he knew the tricks of the Hunnish sor¬ 
cerers, and held them in mingled disbelief and 
dread. Furthermore, much as he liked Goder- 
edd, the boy was a Goth—although royal, and 
therefore scarcely the fitting guardian for the 
sons of a Hun. 

Mirkhond read his thoughts as though they 
had been spread on an illuminated parchment 
roll before him. 

‘‘You want a proof. Chief Attila. You doubt 
that I can read the future, or tell what happens 
far away, although I am not there. Proof you 
shall have, and that immediately. A moment 
ago, I mentioned that a boy of your people 
named Goderedd a ‘ slave ^ this morning, down 
by the stream beside the horses, while I was 
here in my tent. I will bring that boy here, run¬ 
ning, with the sweat of fear on him.’^ 

He fixed his eyes on Goderedd. 

The mage’s mention of the stream and horses 
naturally threw the Goth boy’s thoughts back 



32 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

to the scene beside the watering-place. The very 
instant that the picture formed itself in his 
mind, he felt as though some strange force en¬ 
tered his brain and snatched the thought away. 

Bewildered, he looked at Mirkhond, who, hav¬ 
ing seized telepathically the vision that he 
sought, was staring into the distance with fixed 
eyes. A few moments later, the intensity of 
the gaze relaxed. 

‘^He comes,’’ the mage said, calmly. 

In a few minutes the Hun boy appeared, run¬ 
ning madly towards them along the ridge. His 
eyes were starting from his head, and perspira¬ 
tion dripped from his sallow and low flat brow. 
He did not stop, nor make an obeisance to At- 
tila, but plunged forward like one running in 
his sleep, until halted by a gesture from Mirk¬ 
hond. 

Attila gasped. 

‘‘It would have been the same,” declared the 
astrologer, “had I bidden him come from Rome. 
Is this the boy, Goderedd?” 

“Yes, Mighty Priest,” the lad replied, chang¬ 
ing his form of address. 

“He has injured you. Slay him, if you wish.” 


A STRANGE OATH 


33 

have no wish and I have no weapon/^ re¬ 
plied Goderedd, bluntly. 

Think you that all weapons are made of 
steel? Take my hand, Goderedd!’^ 

The Goth boy stepped forward and did so. 
Instantly, he felt his whole body tingling from 
head to foot with a thrilling vibration. It was 
simply an intense magnetic power, though the 
lad did not know it. His head buzzed, so that 
Mirkhond’s voice seemed to come from very 
far away. 

‘^Hold out your other hand, and point your 
finger at him, Goderedd. He will be slain as 
though he stood in the path of the lightning. 
Do you feel it?’’ 

‘T feel it,” the boy agreed, unwillingly, for 
this rushing force in him, which was not his, 
seemed—to his barbarian mind—^both magical 
and evil. 

‘^Then point!” 

The order was a direct one, yet the Goth boy 
was vaguely conscious that, although Mirkhond 
was giving him the power, he was, at the same 
time, inwardly bidding him not to use it. 

A savage impulse to raise his hand and point, 


34 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

and another inner warning to keep from doing 
so warred within him, but Goderedd’s stolid 
Gothic sense began to get the uppermost. 

‘ ‘ Death,he said at last, ‘Gs the punish¬ 
ment for treason to Attila. I have no right.” 

Mirkhond released Goderedd’s hand, and im¬ 
mediately the boy’s senses cleared. He rubbed 
the tips of his fingers, for they were aching. 

There was a moment’s silence, then Attila 
stepped closer. 

“You could have killed him, Goderedd?” 

“Yes, my Chief!” answered the boy, with 
assurance. He was confident of it. 

Attila looked thoughtful and a little dis¬ 
turbed. He knew,—as all men of that time knew 
—that death-dealing powers existed in some of 
the Persian magi, highly trained in magic, 
though it was rarely employed, being almost as 
dangerous to the user as the victim. 

The Hun chieftain looked, again, at the three 
armlets now on Goderedd’s arm. In spite of his 
suspicion, the certainty gained on him that the 
prophecy would prove true. He realized that 
if Mirkhond were to help Goderedd with all his 
power and his knowledge, the two combined 


A STRANGE OATH 


3:5 

would form an invaluable protection to his sons 
—should there ever be such. 

In the back of his brain, too, lurked the knowl¬ 
edge that, in the event of any treachery, he had 
nothing to do but to slay Goderedd. The boy’s 
royal birth, too, was not without its effect. He 
accepted the situation tacitly, for the mage had 
not asked him for an oath. 

Shall Goderedd remain as horse boy?” he 
asked abruptly, for he did not want to show the 
Goth a too open favor. 

^ ‘ For the present, ’ ’ answered Mirkhond. ‘ ‘ He 
is too young, still, to ride out as a warrior, and 
every one must have work to do. There is no 
need, yet, for your Huns to know all. That will 
come in time. Let it be seen, though, that God¬ 
eredd has your trust.” 


CHAPTER II 


THE LUBE OF FAME 

‘^Rome has run red with blood, Mirkhond? 
That were a killing worth the seeing! ’ ^ 

The narrow, beady eyes of Attila glittered 
hungrily. 

^‘Red!’’ the mage repeated. ^‘The marble 
steps were slippery; the courtyards of the pal¬ 
aces heaped with dead. Of blood and of revenge 
the Goths have drunk their fill. But Rome re¬ 
mains. Attila shall make more blood run be¬ 
tween those ancient walls, and plunge his arms 
in gold pieces to the shoulders, if he will.” 

‘‘Ha!” 

“You, Chieftain of the Huns, may do it. I 
see the name of Attila a flame upon the night 1 ^ ’ 

The astrologer drew aside the curtain of the 
yourt and pointed to the starry sky. 

Attila rose from the heap of furs on which he 
was sitting, and accompanied Mirkhond out¬ 
side the tent. He stared above him, expecting to 
see his name actually written on the sky, but 

36 


THE LURE OF FAME 37 

the stars only glittered above the steppe, as 
always. 

^ ‘ Read me the riddle, ’ ’ the Hun ordered. ‘ ‘ To 
back a horse or split a skull becomes me, but I 
have no skill of the skies. ’ ’ 

^Tt were a long reading, Chief Attila. Yet 
one thing I see clearly—the Empire of Rome 
glitters upon your finger!’’ 

‘^Rome!” 

Attila started, as well he might. Ambition 
drummed madly in his veins, though he was 
only a minor chief. The lust for power domi¬ 
nated him, but in his maddest moment he had 
never dreamed of Rome. 

‘‘Cities, like men,” the mage went on, “yield 
to the strongest sword. Three times did Alaric, 
the Goth, show his teeth to Rome, and thrice 
did the imperial city cringe before him. I saw 
it; I was there! What Alaric has done, Attila 
can do.” 

“He is dead!” 

“Attila will die, also, but his death shall 
shake the world, and his name be a word of ter¬ 
ror to generations unborn.” 

The snarl of pleasure showed the yellow 
teeth. To be feared was the Hun’s chief delight. 


38 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘^Good words, fat words; juicy with blood 

‘‘Words for Attila. Hearken, Chief, King, 
Emperor—if you will—^you who will bear upon 
your finger the destinies of Rome! Over the 
dwelling of Mirkhond, none but eagles hover. 
I was the adviser of the great Theodosius, and 
was at his bedside when he died; he was the 
Master of the World. I was the adviser of 
Alaric, the Goth, ravager of Rome, and was at 
his bedside when he died; Alaric in his turn 
was the Master of the World. Now do I come 
to Attila.’’ 

“For my deathbed!” 

“That may be,” replied the mage calmly, 
“though you are young and I am old. With me 
beside you, Attila can be Master of the World, 
as well.” 

The two men eyed each other, the two strong¬ 
est men of their time: Attila, squat, dwarfish, 
with a power that was savage, inhuman, and 
cruel; Mirkhond, tall, commanding, the embodi¬ 
ment of intellectual force, a Master of Kings. 
No man had ever endured the burning half- 
madness that lay in the eyes of Attila, no one 
until the coming of Mirkhond; the mage, him¬ 
self, had been accustomed to see men shrink un- 


THE LURE OF FAME 


39 

der his penetrating glance. They measured each 
other ^s strength. The glance of neither fell. 

‘‘What do you know of RomeT’ the Persian 
queried. 

“That it has gold, and that its citizens are 
worth big ransom. ’ ^ 

“It is but little. They spoke true who told 
me that the Huns were ignorant. Rome will lie 
in the hollow of your hand; you must be clever 
enough to close your fist on it. Fate has chosen 
you to be a flame that sweeps in terror over 
both the Eastern and Western Empires of 
Rome, as a fire in autumn blackens the dry 
grass of the steppe-land. But a king must not 
be ignorant.’’ 

“I know how to use a sword,” said Attila, 
grimly. “It is a speech that all men under¬ 
stand. ’ ’ 

“It is a common speech. If you can learn no 
more than that. Chieftain of the Huns, I move 
my tent and pitch it otherwhere. A wise man 
amid the ignorant is as a torch set to wet wood; 
the wood smokes, but gives neither light nor 
heat.” 

Attila turned upon him furiously. 

“Would you dictate to me?” 


40 


IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


‘^For what else am I comef If you cannot 
learn, you cannot’rule. Else, I go out across the 
world to Genseric, and Attila shall end his days 
in a skin yourt instead of a palace, or be eaten 
by wolves at the end of some tribal fray. 
Choose 

‘‘Who is this GensericT’ 

“A Vandal.’^ 

Attila spat in sign of contempt for that west¬ 
ern branch of the Goths, at this time occupying 
Prance and Spain. Hate and ruthlessness were 
the principal elements in the character of a 
Hun, but the desire for power was paramount. 

“Speak!’’ he said, thus tacitly admitting 
Mirkhond’s superiority. 

The mage smiled inwardly. His point was 
won. Well he knew that, once having shown his 
thorough knowledge of the intricate affairs of 
that troublous time, Attila would not let him 
go. Low as was the grade of the Hun’s cunning, 
it was diamond-keen; barbarous and cruel as 
was his mind, it was dynamic. Mirkhond had not 
misread his man, and he knew his own worth. 
Knowledge was priceless in those times, as it is 
and ever must be. 

“You waste your time, now, Chief Attila. 


THE LURE OF FAME 


41 

These raids for a handful of gold and some 
pack-loads of grain are well enough for others, 
not for you. Does a hurricane trouble itself with 
straws ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Let us march on Rome! ’ ’ 

^‘With a thousand men? You rave! Before 
you come to the gates of Rome, your followers 
shall be beyond the counting. That is not yet. 
First, you must have a kingdom of your own, 
impregnable. ^ ’ 

‘‘Where?” asked Attila. 

“I will make you one.” 

“Where?” the Hun insisted. 

Mirkhond would have liked to put him off a 
while, but Attila must be humored. 

“Krym (the Crimea),” he replied. “Before 
the grass grows brown, it shall be in your hands. 
No king is strong whose camp is like a flower of 
the steppe, here to-day, and gone to-morrow. 
Your camp. Chief Attila, must be like a cedar 
of the mountains, which no tempest can up¬ 
root.” 

The Hun nodded. 

“Such a camp, or kingdom, must be strong 
enough for you to be able to leave it when you 
go to war. Who will be your enemies? The 


42 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

world! Attila, alone, against tlie world! And 
Attila shall be master! ’ ’ 

No doubt about it, the Persian knew how to 
play upon the overweening vanity of the Hun, 
but he was deeply earnest and sincere. From 
his study of the stars, he was convinced that At¬ 
tila was one of those men whose Fate makes 
them the masters of the world, either for good 
or evil. But mastery means knowledge, and 
Attila would have to learn. Mirkhond deter¬ 
mined to teach his savage pupil by building 
upon the Hun^s violent pride. 

Attila, alone, against the world!’’ he re¬ 
peated. ‘‘Where lie these enemies? Five em¬ 
pires you must face, Attila, and five empires 
you must conquer. Towards the Kising Sun lie 
many peoples. Medians, Persians, Parthians. 
You must tame them and set a line of blood for 
the frontier, a line of blood across which they 
dare not step.” 

“I will make that line!” said Attila, eagerly. 

“To the south lie two empires in one, the 
Eastern Roman Empire with its capital in Con¬ 
stantinople, the Western Empire, in Rome. The 
Caesars have found that one emperor cannot at 
the same time ride two restless horses; he can- 


THE LURE OF FAME 


43 


not keep one foot on the back of that biting 
white mare, the Eastern Empire, and the other 
on the back of the treacherous black stallion of 
the West. Therefore is the Roman Empire di¬ 
vided—a beast with two heads. ’ ^ 

The Hun nodded. Mirkhond’s illustration 
made it easy for him to understand. 

‘‘The Byzantines and Romans, weakened by 
wealth and having become feeble soldiers, wel¬ 
comed their former enemies from the North, 
the Goths, enrolled them in their armies, and 
gave them posts of honor. They bedded their 
foes in their own tents. The Goths poured down 
from the Cold Sea (Northern Europe) and 
those who did not enter the Empire made a 
mighty kingdom under Ermaneric. Then came 
a million Huns under Balamber, from the coun¬ 
try of the Rising Sun, and the Gothic kingdom 
fell.’’ 

“I am of Balamber’s blood!” said Attila, 
proudly. 

“Ermaneric had swept the Gepids, Ostro¬ 
goths, and Visigoths into his kingdom, as a 
gambler sweeps together the pieces of gold he 
has won at the game of the blackened bones. 
The Visigoths were the hardest of all to hold. 


44 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

When the Huns came, like the fury of a raging 
fire, the Visigoths begged Valens, Emperor of 
the East, to let them cross the Danube and be¬ 
come subjects of the Empire. It was dangerous 
to Valens to admit a host of such enemies, but, 
much as he feared the Visigoths, he feared the 
Huns more. If these two peoples should make 
an alliance, they might sweep upon Constan¬ 
tinople and take the Eastern Empire. He 
allowed the Visigoths to cross. The powerful 
and warlike Visigoths immediately dominated 
Thrace. 

‘‘Foolish advisers suggested to the emperor 
that he should seize three hundred children of 
the Visigoths as hostages. ‘By this foul treat¬ 
ment, Valens turned the would-be allies into 
enemies. He made matters worse by disarming 
the Visigoth warriors.” 

“A fighter unarmed is a sick snake;” said 
the Hun. ‘ ‘ One day he will find his venom-teeth 
and use them. A dead warrior will never bite 
any one.” 

“Your people, Attila, then conquered the Os¬ 
trogoths and Gepids. Some Ostrogoths crossed 
the Danube and joined their fellow-Goths, leav¬ 
ing Balamber sole monarch of an empire so 


THE LURE OF FAME 45 

great that it would take a moon to ride across 
it from east to west, a moon from north to 
south. But this addition of the Ostrogoths made 
the Visigoths in Thrace more dangerous. 

‘‘A Roman prefect treacherously tried to as¬ 
sassinate the Gothic leaders at a banquet. The 
Goths rose, defeated and wounded the Emperor 
Valens at the Battle of Constantinople, and the 
wounded emperor was burned alive in a little 
hut to which his own soldiers had carried him. 
Had there been a single man, in all that Gothic 
host, to lead them on Constantinople, the Em¬ 
pire of the East would have ended them. But 
they spent their energies in plunder. To win a 
battle. Chief Attila, is not to make a conquest. 
This have the Huns yet to learn. 

‘‘Disgrace followed on defeat. Julius, min¬ 
ister of war, ordered that all the children of 
the Goths, who had been seized as hostages, 
should be gathered in the market-places of the 
towns to which they had been taken, and there 
massacred. Not one was left alive.’’ 

“Blood for blood,” said Attila, who would 
have done the same. 

“Unwisdom! Blood for blood only causes a 
new blood-debt. The Roman had to pay that 


46 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

debt, and paid it terribly. I saw tbe paying! 

Theodosius became emperor in place of 
Valens, and, by craft and war, restored his 
power over the Goths. By setting the River 
Danube as the frontier of the Huns, he admitted 
the mastery of your people over all the North¬ 
ern world. Soon after the return of Theodosius’ 
embassy to the Huns, I came to Constantinople 
as Master of the Scribes, won the friendship of 
Theodosius, and never left his side. 

‘^The very day that he was buried, I went 
to the camp of Alaric the Goth, then com- 
mander-in-chief of the Visigothic troops under 
Theodosius, and told him that the stars declared 
that he should stand, a conqueror, on the seven 
hills of Rome. Alaric demanded, of Arcadius, 
the weak son of Theodosius, the death of Julius 
who had slain the hostages. The emperor re¬ 
fused, and, to punish the Goths for this demand, 
stopped the pay of the army. The Visigoths re¬ 
volted, and made Alaric their king.” 

‘‘And did Alaric march on Rome!” queried 
Atfila. 

“No, Chief Attila. World events move slowly, 
like an army burdened with spoil. Why should 
he march on Rome? Honorius, the Western Em- 


THE LURE OF FAME 


47- 


peror who reigns now, Chief Attila, had done 
him no harm. His quarrel was not with him, but 
with Arcadius. ^ ’ 

^^He marched on Constantinople, thenT’ 

‘^He did. But Alaric knew—^what you have 
yet to learn. Chief Attila—that undisciplined 
troops can never taken a fortified city. Find¬ 
ing Constantinople in arms and ready to re¬ 
ceive him, he turned aside and led his armies 
through Macedonia and Thessaly, burning and 
slaying as he went, and camped before the walls 
of Athens. The Athenians had no stomach for 
such a bitter fight as that v/ould be, and paid 
huge ransom. Alaric thundered on, sacking 
Megara, Argos, Corinth, Sparta, and many 
other towns, and adding spoil to spoil till the 
very baggage-mules were weary of transport¬ 
ing gold and silvers, silks and spices, all the 
treasures of Greece.’’ 

Attila grunted enviously. 

‘‘Honorius, Emperor of the West, now began 
to fear Alaric, and sent Stilicho, a Vandal, his 
father-in-law and commander-in-chief of all the 
armies, with a powerful army into Thrace. A 
man worthy of your sword. Chief Attila, and 
but little wiser in counsel than I am. But his 


48 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

star was setting, while that of Alaric was 
rising. Stilicho landed at Corinth, and, with 
his amazing skill of war, penned ns in a moun¬ 
tain trap, cutting otf the river which supplied 
the camp. 

‘‘There was little food in those parts. The 
Eoman army grew a-hungered, also. I found 
water for the camp, for he who knows how 
mountains are made knows where to find the 
water they contain. The time for escape had 
come. If Stilicho was a master-general, Alaric 
was no less. 

“Who can tell how that deed was done! Not 
I! By feint and counterfeint, by strategy I 
never even fathomed, Alaric took his host 
through the Roman lines. That night’s march 
was as a dream of terror that shakes a strong 
man in his bed. Up crags impossible we climbed 
like goats, two days’ march in a single night, 
and we had crossed the gulf before Stilicho 
could give pursuit. (It is the most famous stra¬ 
tegic escapq in all history). 

. “Two men I have known whose own soul- 
fire can light a flame in every man who follows 
them. One was Alaric; the other, Chief Attila, 
is you!” 


THE LURE OF FAME 


49 

The Hun^s flat nostrils quivered, and his 
deep-set eyes blazed. 

‘T, myself,” the mage continued, “rode to 
Arcadius and wrenched from him a treaty, giv¬ 
ing us all Eastern Illyricum (Greece and the 
Balkans) and making Alaric a noble of the em¬ 
pire. This treaty I shook, laughing, in Stilicho ^s 
face, as I returned in triumph from Constanti¬ 
nople. Any other man, Stilicho would have fed 
to the crows—^but who dare draw steel upon 
Mirkhond! 

“Three years we spent in preparation. Then, 
when Stilicho was away in Gaul, we set forth 
for the Western Empire. It was Honorius who 
had set Stilicho against Alaric, and Alaric did 
not forget. For twenty months we ravaged, and 
were preparing to burn down Milan—^where 
was Honorius’ court—^when Stilicho returned 
from Gaul. 

“The emperor fled to Ravenna, and Stilicho 
treacherously attacked us on an Easter Sunday, 
when the Goths were at worship and unarmed. 
Once, twice, and a third time he defeated us, 
for our army had grown sluggish during two 
years of easy pillaging, while Stilicho’s troops 
were fresh from victories in Gaul. I then per- 


50 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

suaded Stilicho to make peace with Alaric; we 
would act as a barrier between the two jealous 
empires, and he would be free to finish his cam¬ 
paign in Gaul/’ 

Attila grunted. It was a little hard for him to 
follow, but Alaric, Honorius, and Stilicho were 
names on all men’s lips at that time. 

‘‘And here. Chief Attila,” the mage went on, 
“the Huns come in, anew. Alaric’s army—we 
mustered sixteen legions—(eighty thousand 
men)—^was not composed of Visigoths and Os¬ 
trogoths, only. Ten thousand men were light 
horsemen, Huns, under your uncle’s cousin, 
Chief Uldin. 

“Suddenly there swept down from the north 
a huge invasion of heathens—Vandals, Sueves, 
Burgunds, and Alains—under their king, Ead- 
agais. Now this Eadagais had made a solemn 
vow to burn Eome, and to sacrifice all Chris¬ 
tian priests and Eoman senators to his heathen 
gods. With most of his troops in Gaul, Stilicho 
could not stop this horde, and was too proud to 
send to Alaric for help. 

“Eadagais reached as far as Florence, leav¬ 
ing a blackened and desolate waste behind him, 


THE LURE OF FAME 


SI 

without a living soul or an unburned city where 
his horde had passed—a devastation worthy of 
Attila! 

‘‘Alaric, without being asked, sent Uldin and 
the Huns to the aid of Stilicho. They fell upon 
Radagais, compelled him to surrender, be¬ 
headed him, killed seven men out of every ten, 
by count, and sold the rest and all the women 
and children into slavery. The Huns had saved 
the Empire.’’ 

^^They should have joined Radagais and 
helped to burn down Rome,” grumbled Attila, 
who had little love for the Christians. 

‘ ^ Stilicho now turned foolish. He tried to put 
his own son, Eucherius, on the throne of the 
Caesars. I warned him, twice, that this would be 
his doom, for the stars held nothing for Eucher¬ 
ius. Honorius declared his father-in-law a rebel, 
and the troops, obedient to the emperor, de¬ 
serted their old general. Stilicho fled to Ra¬ 
venna, took sanctuary in a church, was lured 
out by treachery, and murdered in the street. 
His star had set. 

There was more foolishness to come. Hon¬ 
orius, afraid for his throne, declared all Goths 


'52 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

to be heretics, and degraded to the ranks every 
Goth officer in the army. 

‘‘This loosed a new river of blood. 

“The people of the Western Empire, who had 
suffered nothing but robbery and violence from 
the Goths for over fifty years, seized on the 
Emperor’s edict as a pretext for revenge. They 
rose and murdered the wives and children of all 
Goth soldiers, spoiling their former spoilers, 
and won back, in a week, all that they had lost 
in half a century. That revenge but bred a 
blacker one. 

‘ ‘ The flower of the Eoman army, thirty thou¬ 
sand disciplined legionaries, with their officers, 
joined Alaric and begged him to lead them 
against Honorius and Rome. The moment had 
come for which I had been waiting. Stilicho was 
dead. Honorius had dismembered his own army. 
Goths of every stripe were eager for revenge. 
We plundered the whole land, and, next year 
(409) camped under the walls of Rome, the Mis¬ 
tress of the World.” 

“To storm it?” 

“To besiege it. A city like Rome is not to 
be taken by storm. A million people must soon 
starve, if surrounded. Famine is a weapon even 


THE LURE OF FAME 


53 

sharper than your sword, King Attila! The sen¬ 
ators sent envoys, asking honorable terms of 
surrender, but threatening that the Romans 
might rise as one man and, by the weight of 
numbers, crush the host of Alaric. 

‘‘He laughed. 

“ ‘The thicker the grass, the easier it is to 
mow!^ was his answer. But, at the last, he ac¬ 
cepted an enormous ransom. 

“Honorius agreed to make a treaty, refused, 
accepted and refused again. We marched on 
Rome, entered it, and Alaric ordered the Roman 
Senate to declare Honorius deposed. Attalus, 
prefect of the city—more famous for feasting 
than for war—was chosen for emperor by 
Alaric. I bade him not, but he refused to lis¬ 
ten. I saw his triumph coming, and his doom 
beyond—he marched straight to his grim des¬ 
tiny.’’ 

“He should have proclaimed himself Caesar!” 
declared Attila. 

“Impossible! The Roman legions would have 
revolted against a barbarian emperor. Attalus 
was useless and Alaric deposed him from his 
puppet emperorship. Again Honorius offered a 
treaty, and again broke his word. As well try to 


54 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

make a treaty with a reed in a swamp, that 
bends to every gust! 

^‘For the third time we marched on Rome. 
There was no parley. The whole army was 
hurled upon the city at midnight, and one of the 
gates was forced. By dawn we were the masters 
of the city. Alaric gave orders that there was to 
be no butchery, and that all churches and their 
treasures were to be spared. 

‘ ‘ Orders avail little when a city is given over 
for pillage. The streets were heaped with dead, 
the gutters ran blood, and, on every corner, you 
could see man or woman being tortured to re¬ 
veal the hiding-place of treasure. Yet Rome was 
not burned, nor anything destroyed.’’ 

“They will have a different tale to tell when 
I sack Rome, ’ ’ said Attila, grimly. ^ ‘ I must see 
black smoke behind me when I march away! ’ ’ 

“Alaric wished to rule Rome, not destroy it. 
But, by the sacking of Rome, he set both Em¬ 
pires against him. He was alone against the 
world. Master of it, but alone! For his own 
safety, he must control Rome, absolutely. The 
huge armies of Rome, and his own, needed con¬ 
stant supplies of wheat, and nearly all the 
wheat came from the African provinces. Hon- 


THE LURE OF FAME 


55 


orius forbade any shipments to Rome, and or¬ 
dered the wheat-ships to sail to Tarentnm or 
Ravenna. There was nothing left for Alaric to 
do hut to try to conquer Carthage. He set sail 
hastily for Africa, but his fleet was destroyed in 
a sudden storm. 

‘‘Three days later he was smitten with a 
fever, and lay helpless on the shore. His dying 
wish w’as that no Roman might know the place 
of his burial. Four days later, he died. We car¬ 
ried his body to the bank of a little river, near 
the camp, and set two thousand prisoners to dig 
a new channel for the river. When the old bed 
was dry, we buried him there, turned the river 
back to its channel, leveled the earth as before, 
and slew every man of those two thousand, that 
never a Roman should learn where lie the bones 
of Alaric the Goth. The Master of the World 
lies there, and none shall bear that name again 
till Attila shall claim it.’’ 

‘ ‘ That will not be long! ’ ’ thundered Attila. 

‘ ‘ So lies the world to-day, ’ ’ went on the mage, 
“before the feet of Attila. The peoples of the 
East, the rivalry between the Eastern and the 
Western Empire, the Goths in the empire ready 
to follow any strong sword, the Goths of the 


56 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

North and West always ready to shake off the 
power of Eome—all these, Chief Attila, you 
must ride and rule together.’’ 

‘T will ride them all!” 

‘‘So the stars decree; but not yet. A foal is 
not ready to be ridden by a warrior till its back 
can bear the weight. Eemember the five parts of 
the world that you must conquer—first, the peo¬ 
ples of the Eising Sun, then, the Empire of the 
East, then, the Goths, and Eome, at the last.” 

“Eome, first!” cried Attila. 

“Euin! You would be pinched between the 
Eastern Empire, the Goths, and the sea.” 

With the toe of his sandal he sketched in the 
dust the geography of Europe, showing Attila 
how isolated was the peninsula of Italy, and 
how easily the Visigoths, Alains, and Byzan¬ 
tines could cut off a Hun army which had risked 
the crossing of the transverse Apennines, be¬ 
tween Bologna and Florence. 

“Therefore, Chief Attila,” he continued, 
“you must first become master of the peoples 
of the East. To do so, you must hold Krym as 
an impregnable kingdom. Your Huns are 
ready.” 

Mirkhond thoroughly understood both Attila 


THE LURE OF FAME 


57 

and the wild tribesmen with whom he was deal¬ 
ing. He had endeared himself to the Huns as 
quickly as he had secured the confidence of their 
chief, and that by the only method they recog¬ 
nized—bloodshed and loot. With his precise 
knowledge of the weakness or wealth of the 
centers of settlement in all countries from Per¬ 
sia to Gaul, he had directed the raiding parties 
of the Huns to the places where spoil was the 
most plentiful. 

Never did he appear as the instigator of these 
raids, leaving all the glory to Attila, but the 
older warriors knew the source of their chief’s 
information, and even the most ignorant tribes¬ 
men dated their success and their enrichment 
from the day of Mirkhond’s coming to the camp. 

No one knew better than the Persian, how¬ 
ever, how insecure is a power that is built on 
nothing but irregular robbery. This was his rea¬ 
son for firing Attila with the desire to capture 
Krym, or the Crimean Peninsula. 

It was a daring project to suggest to so small 
a body of men as followed Attila, for the Tet- 
raxide Goths of the Crimea had successfully re¬ 
sisted Balamber and the Hun armies for over 
thirty years. On one occasion, a force of twelve 


58 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

thousand Huns had been cut to pieces in try¬ 
ing to drive a mad charge over the Isthmus of 
Perekop, only three miles wide, the sole com¬ 
munication between the Crimea and the main¬ 
land. 

Attila was a reckless commander, but he was 
too naturally great a leader to attempt impos¬ 
sibilities. He listened eagerly to Mirkhond’s 
suggestions, but answered bluntly that, with 
only a few hundred men, it was certain defeat 
to attempt the conquest of the Crimea. 

‘^Why, Chief Attila the mage inquired. 

‘‘The Tetraxides,’’ he spat, “are twenty 
times stronger than my Huns.’^ 

“Which is the stronger—a horse or a manP’ 

“A horse, since it carries a man.’’ 

“And which is master?” 

“A man, for he knows more than a horse.” 

“Wise words. Chief Attila; mastery lies in 
knowing, not in strength. The day that you 
know more than the Tetraxides, you will be 
their master.” 

“You say it will be done?” 

“I say it.” 

Attila looked at him thoughtfully. Since Mirk- 
hond had been with the Huns, success had been 


THE LURE OF FAME 


59 

constant and the camp was full of spoil. Sev¬ 
eral other small bands had joined Attila^s ban¬ 
ner, so that the camp now held nearly a thou¬ 
sand men. 

‘‘Note well, Chief Attila,’^ pursued Mirk- 
hond, “the Tetraxides remain unconquered be¬ 
cause their territory is mountainous and un¬ 
known, not to be reached save by a narrow 
tongue of land. Another way must be found by 
which your Huns may pass.’^ 

“Who is to find itT’ 

“Goderedd.’’ 

“A boy!’’ 

“A small crack will empty a large water-pot, 
Chief Attila.” 

“Why send a boy? There are warriors 
enough among the Huns! ’ ’ 

“Can a Hun look like a Goth?” 

“That is true.” 

“The Ostrogoths love not the Tetraxides, 
who call themselves Goths and are not truly so. 
But the people of Krym talk the Goth tongue. 
So does Goderedd.” 

“You also speak it, Mirkhond.” 

“I could not visit Krym unnoticed.” 

“But what can a boy do?” protested Attila. 


6 o IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


‘‘Young Goderedd cannot even wield a sword 
“Very small and thin is the rung of a lad¬ 
der/’ replied the mage, “yet, by those rungs, 
great warriors climb the walls of a fortified 
city. Goderedd is one of the rungs on the ladder 
of your climbing. Chief Attila, but the glory 
comes to the climber, not to the ladder. Send 
him to Krym; his fate is bound up with yours. 
Chief Attila. It is upon your road to Fame!” 


CHAPTER III 


A CUNNING SCOUT 

Godereud drew himself up, wearily, on the 
beach of the Crimea. It had been a long and tir¬ 
ing swim. It was his third night of alternate 
swimming and creeping by night along the shore 
of the Isthmus of Perekop, to be sure that none 
of the Tetraxide sentinels should see him. 

The first part of his task was accomplished. 
He was in the redoubtable land of Krym, where 
never a Hun had been able to set foot. He 
was now on the peninsula side of the Isthmus. 
As this was the only land approach to the Cri¬ 
mea (there were no fleets, at that time, in the 
Black Sea), so long as this was held the Tet- 
raxides believed their country to be impreg¬ 
nable. 

Goderedd had received detailed instructions 
from Mirkhond and knew exactly what he was 
to do. He was, firstly, to learn as much as he 
could of the mountain passes and of the heights 

6i 


62 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


which, dominated the plains; secondly, he was 
to try and find some other route to the penin¬ 
sula, by which an army could reach there se¬ 
cretly. The mage had heard, vaguely, that the 
great lagoon to the north—known as the Sivash 
or Putrid Sea—^was extremely shallow. It might 
be possible to find a fording-place where a swim 
would not be too long for the horses of the 
Huns, trained only to the swimming of rivers. 

In Goderedd’s ragged tunic were sewn sev¬ 
eral pieces of silver and one or two pieces of 
gold, but he carried no other weapon than the 
sharp, iron-pointed, and heavy stick of the 
Scythian shepherds, a very efficient defense 
against a wolf. He went as a scout, not as a 
warrior. 

Through all that day he slept, well hidden, in 
a clump of bushes, though there was little like¬ 
lihood of discovery. The land was flat, marshy, 
desolate. On the coming of night, he finished 
his provision of scorched horse-flesh—it had 
been wrapped in tarred silk for the swim—and 
set out for the mountains. Dawn found him still 
in the plain. He slept during the day in a thick 
bed of Asiatic hemp-weed, and, at night, set off 
again, hungry, for he had nothing more to eat. 


A CUNNING SCOUT 


63 

He could, undoubtedly, have found some mar¬ 
mots, had he dared to hunt by daylight, but he 
>v’as afraid of being seen. 

All that night he climbed steadily, having 
found a fairly well-marked sheep-path, and, to¬ 
wards morning, reached the pasture-lands of, 
the heights. He was not long in finding fresh 
tracks, and followed the line of grazing of the 
flock until he came to the place where it had 
rested for the night. A shepherd and a boy were 
just cooking their morning meal. They looked at 
him suspiciously. 

Goderedd came up and threw himself on the 
ground beside them. He was evidently tired and 
foot-weary; it was clear that he had been walk¬ 
ing all night. Before even asking any question, 
the man handed him a piece of mutton and some 
sheep’s-milk cheese. 

‘‘You come from wherethe shepherd 
asked. 

Goderedd had his answer ready. 

“I ran away,” he said. “I was keeping sheep 
down there—” he waved his hand in a direction 
other than that by which he had come, ‘ ‘ and the 
other sheep boy hit me. I hit him with my stick, 
and he fell.” 


J 


64 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 
‘‘Deadr’ 

‘T didn’t wait to see. He was only a slave, but 
the master liked him. He would have beaten me, 
so I ran away. I look for sheep to herd.” 

The shepherd nodded. He was a stupid fel¬ 
low, and Goderedd’s story was such a simple 
one that nothing seemed more likely. 

‘T have my boy,” he said, ‘‘but Swintha, who 
has many sheep, has no boy. Walk to him.” 

“I will go—and the gods give you fortune,” 
he added, as thanks for the meal. “Where does 
Swintha feed his sheep?” 

The man described the direction in which 
Goderedd should go, and the boy, deftly, as 
though in ignorance of the region, put a number 
of questions as to the lie of the land and the 
routes in the vicinity, by which the sheep were 
driven to the uplands from the plain. Goderedd 
treasured every word. Already, though he had 
been but two nights and a day in the country, 
he had learned much of the necessary topog¬ 
raphy by which a Hun army could reach the 
heights. 

To recover strength, he slept that morning, 
and, in the afternoon, followed the shepherd’s 
direction. Three or four hours later he saw the 


A CUNNING SCOUT 65 

flock he was seeking, and went up boldly to the 
herder. 

‘‘Gunbredt told me to come to you, Swintha,’’ 
he said. ‘^He declared that you had no sheep 
boy now. ’ ’ 

Swintha was a Tetraxide Goth of enormous 
size and strength. He was far more intelligent 
than the first shepherd, and Goderedd’s simple 
story of a fight did not convince him. He 
thought that the boy must have stolen, and had 
run away for that reason, but the thought never 
entered his head that the lad was not a Tetrax¬ 
ide, like himself. 

The little differences in speech mattered noth¬ 
ing. The Tetraxides, like all the early Goth 
groups, comprised several tribes, each of whom 
spoke a slightly different dialect. The Goth 
tongue had never been unified, save by the 
bishop Ulfilas, who had translated the Bible 
into Goth. The Tetraxides were still heathens, 
and knew nothing of Ulfilas, being cut off—^by 
the form of their country—^from all the develop¬ 
ment of the Goths. 

Having satisfied himself that Goderedd was 
a thief, and giving himself credit for his keen¬ 
sightedness, Swintha showed himself quite 


66 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

ready to take the lad as a sheep boy. In the 
mountains there was nothing to steal, and he 
needed a herder badly. His former boy had been 
killed and eaten by wolves, and it was a difficult 
and onerous task to manage the flock, all alone, 
in rough mountains. 

you will herd until the flocks go down, I 
will give you two sheep,he offered. This was 
the usual pay. Swintha could have offered less, 
seeing that the boy was in need, but the Goths, 
as a whole, did not have the cheap bargaining 
spirit of Orientals. 

will herd,’^ said Goderedd, and thus was 
the arrangement made. 

Swintha was a shepherd, but he was—when 
occasion required—a warrior also. He soon 
came to have a liking for the boy, and Goderedd 
did not object at all to a shepherd’s life. He was 
far more free than in the Hun camp, and 
Swintha treated him as a comrade. The flock 
wandered widely, and the Goth boy learned a 
great deal of the nature of the surrounding 
country. 

One night the flock was attacked by wolves. 
Goderedd was on his feet as quickly as was 
Swintha. 


A CUNNING SCOUT 67 

‘‘Don’t run away!” shouted the shepherd. 
“The wolf-pack will follow you!” 

“Run!” cried Goderedd, in excited forgetful¬ 
ness. “An Amaling does not run!” 

With his iron-shod stick, and a torch, he 
joined Swintha in the furious fray. He fought 
savagely, boldly, breaking the hack of one wolf 
and transfixing two others. He relished the 
fight, and was even sorry when the howling 
wolves broke away. 

Although wolves seldom return, Swintha de¬ 
clared that they had better stay on guard, all 
night. 

When the sheep had settled down again, the 
shepherd turned to the boy in great curiosity. 

“What did you mean by calling yourself an 
Amaling?” he queried. 

Goderedd bit his lip in the darkness. In his 
excitement he had not noticed that he had be¬ 
trayed himself. 

“My grandmother was an Ostrogoth,” he 
said hastily, “she was taken prisoner by the 
Tetraxides. My mother told me she was of the 
Amalings—but that may be just a tale.” 

Swintha made no comment. He was no fool. 
Had Goderedd replied with a boast, he would 


68 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


have thought it an idle story; the hoy’s air of 
studied neglect only made it seem true. The 
shepherd had become aware that his sheep boy 
was of different metal than most of the rough 
Tetraxides, though Goderedd had done his best 
to seem ignorant. Still, thought Swintha, what¬ 
ever the boy was, that mattered little on the 
mountains and he was a good herder. When they 
went down to the plains, in the autumn, it would 
be time enough to talk about the boy to one of 
the chiefs. 

But if Swintha was thinking, Goderedd was 
thinking, also. By his lack of caution, he had at¬ 
tracted attention to himself. He had learned 
from Swintha all that was to be learned of that 
section of the mountains, he was quite used to 
the tricks of sheep-herding, and he had become 
proficient in the Tetraxide dialect, which dif¬ 
fered but slightly from his own. He determined 
to escape. 

The following evening, when the flocks were 
gathered for the night, Goderedd said suddenly, 

‘^Oh, I’d forgotten. I got a lot of firewood 
ready, this morning. I’ll go and get it before it 
gets quite dark.” 


A CUNNING SCOUT 69 

‘‘60/’ said Swintha, unsuspiciously, “if it 
isn^t too far/’ 

Grabbing bis stick, Goderedd set off in the 
fast-fading light. Swintha never saw him again. 

Ostensibly hunting for work as a sheep- 
herder, Goderedd traveled all over the moun¬ 
tains, until he was satisfied that he knew the 
principal passes. A good half of his scouting 
work was done. He set himself to the second 
part of his task—that of finding a ford over the 
Putrid Sea. 

So successful had been his scouting, in the 
guise of a shepherd, that Goderedd determined 
to try the trick a second time, but in a slightly 
different manner. He made his way to the Sea 
of Azov, struck to the northeastward, and ap¬ 
proached a small fishing-village which was sit¬ 
uated just where the lagoon-like waters of the 
Putrid Sea join the Sea of Azov. Behind, lay a 
terribly dreary country, so constantly swept by 
dust-storms as to be uninhabitable. 

Using the same pretext of having been obliged 
to flee from the mountains because of a fatal 
quarrel, Goderedd tried to hire himself as a 
fisherman. Here, there was no chance. The skin 


70 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

boats were only large enough for one person on 
board, and the boy had no experience. 

Nothing could have suited him better. God- 
eredd produced one of his pieces of gold and 
bought a cranky skin-covered sailing craft, tell¬ 
ing the villagers he would try his luck as a fish¬ 
erman. The others laughed at him, for he knew 
neither how to sail, nor to fish. He was upset 
several times, but, being a strong swimmer, al¬ 
ways managed to clamber back on his boat. His 
success was poor; his catch was seldom large. 

‘^You fool, boy!’^ said one of the older fish¬ 
ermen to him. ‘‘Why you go always in Putrid 
Sea? More fish in open!’’ 

“I’m afraid,” said the boy. “I’m a shepherd, 
not a fisherman, and I don’t know much about 
boats. Besides, though there are few fish in the 
Putrid Sea, they are bigger.” 

The villagers thought this a great joke. Every 
fisher boy knew how to handle a boat, from 
childhood. Goderedd’s fear of the open sea only 
made his shepherd story seem more true. 

It was not surprising that Goderedd caught 
few fish. His fishing was only a pretext. Most 
of the time he spent with a pole, sounding the 
shallow bottom. As for the smallness of his 


A CUNNING SCOUT 


71 

catch, that did not worry him. He had still a 
few silver pieces, for food. 

The boy spent a month in the Putrid Sea. He 
could stand it no longer. The smell was begin¬ 
ning to make him ill. He could no longer eat. 
But he had found what he came to find. At low 
tide, there was a long spit of sand, rarely dry, 
but often with no more than six inches of water 
over it and hard enough for horses. The chan¬ 
nel to be swum was not more than a hundred 
yards across, and, at ebb, there was no current. 
Indeed, the tide is very small in the Sea of 
Azov. (Over this Arabat spit of sand the rail¬ 
way from Sebastopol to Exaterinoslav runs 
now). 

Supremely contented with his discoveries, 
Goderedd resold the boat for almost nothing, 
and left the village among the jeers of the fish¬ 
ing-folk for a shepherd who thought he could 
learn how to sail a boat. No one in the village 
had suspected him of being anything but a silly 
fellow who undertook work he knew nothing 
about. 

The boy’s task was now accomplished. He 
could have returned to Attila and Mirkhond in 
all confidence, but he was so elated with his sue- 


72 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

cess, and lie so enjoyed this adventuring life on 
his own resources, that he had no desire to re¬ 
turn to the Hun camp as yet. Swintha would 
not come down to the plain until autumn, for 
he could not leave his flock; the fisher-folk had 
not suspected Goderedd. There was no fear of 
discovery. He decided to see for himself what 
the defenses of the Isthmus of Perekop were 
like. 

It was a long and stifling walk over the Dust- 
Plains. He had taken some dried fish and a 
gourd of water from the fishing village, but he 
had not dared to ask his way, since he did not 
want the fishing-folk to know that he was a 
stranger. The first day was disagreeable, and 
Goderedd’s nose was soon bleeding, and stuffed 
up with dried blood and dust. Thirst soon beset 
him, and his gourd was empty by mid-afternoon. 
When evening came, his throat was parched and 
dry. There was no water. 

The night was cool, and, despite his thirst, 
he slept soundly. On a fine, clear morning, he 
started off again at his best speed. Water, he 
must find! At ten o’clock the dust-whirls rose 
again. He staggered on, his only hope rising 
from the fact that he had found a little path. 


A CUNNING SCOUT 73 

That must lead to some place where people 
lived, and where people lived there must be wa¬ 
ter. It was nearly dusk before he came to a deep 
well, with a bucket of hide and a horse-hair 
rope beside it. That, in a word, was the saving 
of his life. But he had learned one important 
thing. To cross the Dust-Plains an army must 
bring its own water. The knowledge that his 
own sufferings had brought him to this discov¬ 
ery—^which might have been fatal to Attila’s 
expedition—cheered him greatly. 

Next day, rested and refreshed, his gourd 
filled anew, he set out on his third day^s march. 
First one, and then another path joined that 
on which he was walking. The track became 
wide and well-beaten. No doubt of it, he was ap¬ 
proaching Akyt, the little Tetraxide settlement 
on the Crimean end of the Perekop Isthmus. 

Goderedd advanced eagerly, astonished to see 
so much bustle about the place. There were only 
a dozen huts, but rough tents and brushwood 
shelters lay scattered on every side. It was a 
huddled agglomeration, and, when the Goth boy 
entered it, he was surprised to find that most of 
these huts and tents were not for soldiers, but 
for artisans, makers of weapons, chiefly. 


74 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

He strolled through the place idly, no one 
paying the least attention to him, save a saddle- 
maker, at the door of a hut, who was sewing 
busily. He looked up as the boy approached, 
nodded, and at once began to talk. He was a 
garrulous old man, and ready to talk to any¬ 
body. 

In the course of the conversation Goderedd 
mentioned that he had tried fishing, as a change 
from sheep-herding, but had no luck. 

‘‘You will do workr’ queried the saddle- 
maker, eagerly. 

“I only know how to herd sheep,” said the 
boy. 

The saddle-maker pointed his needle at him. 

“But you could learn to work!” 

“I^d like to, if I knew how.” 

“Learn to make saddles!” suggested the old 
man eagerly. “I have much work, too much 
work. I have no boy. ’ ’ 

“I might try,” agreed Goderedd, not want¬ 
ing to seem too eager. 

“Twenty thousand saddles must be made. 
Within three moons! ’ ’ 

This news gave another color to Goderedd’s 
rather aimless thoughts. What could the Tet- 


A CUNNING SCOUT 75 

raxide^s need of twenty thousand saddles in 
such a hurry? He must find out, and where 
could he find out better than by staying a while 
in Akyt? 

With the saddle-maker so eager to get a 
helper, and Goderedd only too ready to find a 
place where he would be inconspicuous, terms 
were soon made, and, the very next morning, 
the Goth boy took his first lesson in sewing 
leather with deer-sinew. 

The saddle-maker was an inveterate talker. 
His tongue and his needle were never still. He 
gossiped all the day long, and Goderedd stored 
in his memory such of the information he re¬ 
ceived as might prove useful. The boy worked 
conscientiously, for that was his nature, and he 
soon gained the approval of his master. 

Some three weeks later, one of the Tetraxide 
chiefs stopped outside the hut and had a long 
talk with the saddler. When the latter came 
back, he was bursting with importance. 

‘‘A saddle! With twenty pounds of silver! 
And silver spurs! And silver sewn on the stir¬ 
rups ! It is to me that Sunyamers comes to make 
his saddle! Oho! The Huns will squint! ’ ’ 

Goderedd’s needle plied steadily, but he 


76 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

pricked his ears to listen. For all the saddler’s 
talkativeness, he had not yet given the informa¬ 
tion that Goderedd was seeking. Now, in a sin¬ 
gle sentence, the whole truth had come out. 

‘‘Why does Chief Sunyamers ride against 
the Huns?” queried Goderedd. 

His master started and looked at him, uncon¬ 
scious that his words about the saddle had given 
any clue. 

“So you know of the raid! But, of course. 
Why? You ask why?” For a moment he seemed 
suspicious, then his expression cleared. “Ah, I 
remember, you are only a sheep boy—people 
know nothing on the mountains. I will tell you, 
I, Tasfrith, the maker of silver saddles!” 

It was clear that he could not get his mind 
off the order he had received to make the saddle 
for the chieftain. He squatted again on the 
ground and began to work industriously. 

“Why? Ignorant sheep boy! Sunyamers 
wishes to be the next king. He must have an 
army, so he must have gold. Where is there gold 
in Krym? Silver may be found in a hole in the 
ground (there are silver-mines in the Crimea), 
but gold must be found with the sword. The 


A CUNNING SCOUT 


11 

tent of Attila is made of gold, he eats off gold 
plates, his saddle is gold, his stirrups are gold.” 

‘T thought the Huns lived on slices of un¬ 
cooked horse-flesh which they made tender by 
putting between their horses’ backs and their 
saddles as they rode. Do they own anything at 
all?” queried Goderedd, who had his own rea¬ 
sons for wishing to seem ignorant of the Huns. 

‘‘Sheep boy!” said the saddler in great con¬ 
tempt, “you know nothing! Sunyamers will 
come back with a load of gold on every horse.” 

“But I thought it was always snow where the 
Huns live.” 

“Sunyamers will not wait till snow-time. 
When the flocks come down from the mountains, 
and all the warriors are gathered, he will ride. ’ ’ 

Full of his subject, the saddle-maker rattled 
on, giving all sorts of information, some true 
and some mere gossip, but all bearing on the 
theme, how rich the Tetraxides would be when 
Sunyamers returned. Then he would be paid for 
all the saddles he was making. He explained 
how certain was success, since the raid would 
be a complete surprise, and how reprisals were 
impossible, since never could the Huns storm 


78 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

the impregnable Isthmus of the Perekop. God- 
eredd showed just interest enough to keep the 
old man talking, but no more. 

Two days later, the boy complained of feeling 
feverish and ill, and, the day following, did not 
appear at the hut for the morning’s work. 
When he did not return that day, nor the day 
after, the saddler was annoyed, but he took the 
boy’s departure philosophically, since he would 
not have to pay the boy’s wages and he had 
gained six weeks’ work for nothing. 

Little did the saddle-maker dream that God- 
eredd had sneaked along the Perekop shore, by 
night, swimming out to sea, boldly, when he 
came to the triple line of defenses. He returned 
as he had come, unseen. 

A week later he was back at Attila’s camp, 
with all his information. He told his adventures 
in full detail to the chief and to Mirkhond, and 
the mage, with the boy’s information, was able 
to prepare a rough but moderately correct map. 
Attila gave him no praise but threw him a purse 
of gold, a heavy one. 

‘‘Choose your own horse; you shall ride in 
my twenty-one! ” he said. 

Attila’s “twenty-one” was his own picked 


A CUNNING SCOUT 


79 

bodyguard, and Mirkliond frowned. The boy 
yras too young to be put among the warriors, 
and such an action would only provoke jealousy. 

Goderedd saw the mage’s frown, and acted 
quickly on it. 

‘‘Chief Attila, I accept,” he said warmly. 
“When I am old enough, I will remind you of 
your promise to take me in the ‘twenty-one.’ ” 

For the campaign in view, Goderedd’s coun¬ 
sel was of daily need. While he had told his 
story in detail, on the day of his arrival, as the 
plan of campaign developed, more and more 
questions were put to him. Some he knew, others 
he did not. He began to realize, with a sense of 
shame, that, successftil as his scouting trip 
had been, it was very incomplete. During the 
next few weeks, by learning of his omissions, 
he gained a grasp of the varied necessities re¬ 
quired for large military movements, a knowl¬ 
edge which was to stand him in good stead in 
later years. 

To Mirkhond’s mind, the moment had come 
to strike. It was just two weeks before the time 
set by the Tetraxides, and they would be occu¬ 
pied with their own preparations. The war¬ 
riors would have descended from the moun- 


8 o IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

tains, and the passes would be now unprotected. 

The Tetraxides were convinced that they had 
nothing to fear from the Huns, for experience 
had shown that the wild Asiatic horsemen knew 
only one mode of war—a mad charge without 
any wiles of strategy. Against such, every pre¬ 
caution had been taken by the Tetraxides. The 
narrow isthmus was mined with pits and criss¬ 
crossed with thorny barricades, hindering 
horses and preventing any united onslaught. 

But Attila was a general born. With Mirk- 
hond^s advice and Goderedd’s information, he 
shaped a campaign that would have done credit 
to the finest general of the Eoman Empire. 

Masking his real strength, he delivered a 
powerful feint attack on the Isthmus of the 
Perekop, having—through Goderedd—a knowl¬ 
edge of the nature of the defenses. The Tet¬ 
raxides hurried every man forward to defend 
the Isthmus, all the more certain that the Huns 
intended to break through, since Attila was at 
their head. 

At the same time, the main force of the Huns, 
under the guidance of Goderedd, crossed the 
Arabat sand-pit, swam the channel of the Pu¬ 
trid Sea, and reached the Dust-Plains, every 


A CUNNING SCOUT 


8 i 


man carrying a supply of water for himself and 
his horse. Thence, in little bands, the Huns on 
their sturdy ponies climbed the steep sheep- 
paths which led to the rich alpine meadows of 
the Yaila-dagh Mountains. All the heights and 
passes were captured before the Tetraxides, 
anxiously awaiting a second and more powerful 
attack at the Isthmus, were aware that they 
had been taken in the rear. 

The Huns commanded a position from which 
they could not be dislodged, and, not knowing 
how many thousand Huns might be hidden in 
the mountains, the Tetraxides surrendered, to 
save themselves from wholesale massacre, ac¬ 
cepting Attila as master of the whole land of 
Krym. Sunyamers and all the Tetraxide chiefs 
were slain, but Goderedd saw to it that no harm 
came to Swintha and the saddle-maker. 

Thus the Crimea passed into the hands of 
Attila, no longer Chief, but King, and his first 
rise to power was due to the loyalty and skill 
of Goderedd, the horse boy. 


CHAPTER IV 


FIGHTING AN AUBOCHS 

TB,usT not these Illyrians, Enric,^^ de¬ 
clared Goderedd to one of his companions, some 
two years after the conquest of the Crimea, as 
they rode out in the early dawn along a dry 
river-bed, in the plains of what is now Croatia. 
‘‘They would have been pleased to slit our 
throats last night. ’ ’ 

“A true word. Master. My knife was loose in 
its sheath all the night long, and my ears are 
tired from listening.’’ 

“And you, Stryg!” asked the boy, turning to 
his other follower. 

“Some stranger came smelling the horses 
last night,” said the Hun, tersely. “He will 
smell no more.” 

“You killed him?’’ 

“In silence, Master.” 

“And the body?” 

“It is well hidden. His friends will not find 
it soon enough to follow us.” 

82 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 83 

‘^What kind of man was it, StrygT’ 

‘T did not look. The body is hidden.” 

The Hun reined his horse back, to avoid fur¬ 
ther questioning. 

Goderedd said no more. If the Hun did not 
choose to speak, there was no way to make him. 
Yet the curtly told news was disquieting. He 
pressed the pace, the others spurring, likewise. 
It would have been difficult for any pursuers 
to overtake them, for the five horses were the 
pick of Attila’s herd, that is to say, among the 
finest in the world. Still, a dead man, however 
well hidden, was not a good augury for a peace¬ 
ful embassy. 

The two years that had passed since the con¬ 
quest of the Crimea had witnessed incessant 
fighting. The flood of Asiatics, ever pouring into 
Scythia, did not accept Attila as master without 
savage fighting. These wild hordes had their 
own leaders,—Mongol, Tartar, or Turcoman— 
and were as ready to raid a Hun camp as any 
other. Several times these furious drives all but 
overswept the eastern region, but Attila, grow¬ 
ing stronger and more cunning day by day, held 
the frontier and hammered these savage peo¬ 
ples into obedience. With the Tetraxides, he 


84 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

ruled not less than fifty thousand warriors, 
now. 

During that time, Goderedd had risen quietly 
but surely from the position of Attila’s horse 
boy to that of Attila’s most trusted messenger. 
The Goth boy^s brain was a keen one. Just as 
Attila had grasped the art of war from Mirk- 
hond with an aptitude that was astounding, so 
had Goderedd added statecraft to his naturally 
solid common sense. He had acquired, also, the 
Greek and Latin tongues, commonly spoken in 
those times, and which, like all Goths, he had 
known fairly well in childhood. 

Besides, Goderedd was honest, unfailingly 
loyal to the oath he had made to Attila, clear¬ 
headed, and with a good memory. A Goth of 
royal blood, he had nothing in him of Oriental 
trickery. He could be trusted. This made him an 
invaluable messenger in the camp of the Huns, 
especially in those days when every message 
was sent by word of mouth; a courier was prac¬ 
tically an envoy, and must be a man of con¬ 
fidence. 

The Goth boy—^he was a grown man, now— 
rode with sword at side, and two servants or 
followers. One of these, Euric, was an Ostro- 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 85 

goth who had lived with the Huns all his life, 
* his father having been a free warrior under 
Ermaneric; he was a little dull of wit, but a 
swordsman of noted skill. The other, Stryg, 
was a Hun; short and squat, but very wide¬ 
awake and a famous javelin-thrower. Though 
under Goderedd^s orders on this mission, they 
were also spies on him, and the Goth boy did not 
doubt that each had separate orders from At- 
tila to kill him, should they have suspicion of 
any treachery. 

For that menace, Goderedd cared little. He 
was happy to get away from the camp of King 
Ruas, where, for three months past, he had been 
with Attila and with Bleda, Attila’s treacherous 
elder brother. Goderedd knew a great deal about 
Bleda, far more than it was wise to know, and 
the boy had lived in hourly fear that the Hun 
might find it out. 

Besides his satisfaction at being out of the 
Hun camp, Goderedd was in the highest spirits, 
for he was riding to the farthest point—or so 
it seemed to him—of the civilized world, carry¬ 
ing a message from King Ruas and Attila to 
Atawulf, King of the Visigoths. He bore in 
his memory, also, a special personal message 


86 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


which Mirkhond had given him for Gallia Pla- 
cidia, sister of the Emperor Honorius, held a 
prisoner in Atawnlf ^s camp. She had been cap¬ 
tured by Alaric the Goth, in the sacking of 
Eome. Atawulf, on succeeding to the Visigothic 
kingship, had otfered to send her home in re¬ 
turn for some eighty ship-loads of wheat for his 
army. As the wheat did not come, Atawulf had 
kept the emperor’s sister as a hostage. 

Goderedd’s purse was full of gold, he was 
magnificently mounted, and each of his follow¬ 
ers had a led horse. He was dressed in barbaric 
splendor, as befitted an envoy from the Huns, 
in silver-studded leather scale armor thrown 
over a black bearskin. His light helmet—^with¬ 
out a crest, for he was not an officer—^was such 
as was used by the auxiliary legions of Eome, 
and his legs, bare to above the knee, were pro¬ 
tected by leather cross-gartering studded with 
silver points. His sword was slightly curved 
—Asiatic rather than Eoman in pattern—and 
his shield was of bull’s-hide, very convex, and 
with a metal rim and pointed boss. 

The world was before him and he was on his 
way to Gallia Placidia to whom—so ran Mirk¬ 
hond’s message—he was to be ^^the friend and 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 87 

confidant of the mother of emperors.’’ His fu¬ 
ture shone brightly as he galloped on, ever and 
anon turning his head to see if there was any 
sign of pursuit. 

Stryg must have spoken truly, the corpse 
must be well hidden, for, from the summit of a 
hill which commanded several miles of plain, 
there was no one in sight following them. No 
one could catch them now. Men were not 
squeamish in those days and Goderedd did not 
look upon Stryg’s deed as murder; in wild coun¬ 
tries and in wild times, often one must slay or 
be slain. 

It would take a good-sized volume to recount 
all Goderedd’s adventures along the road, for, 
in those days, a party of three could not expect 
to ride a thousand miles and more without sen¬ 
sational incidents, some pleasant, others less so. 

He had rescued a child from drowning during 
a cloudburst; barely escaped with his life when 
pursued by some raiding Gepids, the fleetness 
of the horses having saved him; and he had 
dodged a pack of hungry wolves by swimming 
his horses for nearly a mile down the rapidly 
running Dniester River. Even after he had 
crossed the Danube and had come into the sup- 


88 IN THE TIME OF ATJILA 


posedly law-abiding territories of the Eoman 
Empire, he had a hand-to-hand fight with a 
party of murdering charcoal-burners, where he 
would certainly have been killed but for Eu- 
ric’s sword. The charcoal-burners—^more than 
twenty in number—^were as much afraid of Eu- 
ric’s laughter as his blade, for the Ostrogoth 
swordsman roared delight at every stroke; it 
was uncanny. Stryg fought like a panther, si¬ 
lently. They were a deadly pair. 

Only once had Goderedd been seriously de¬ 
layed, and that was by a tribe of Huns, less than 
two hundred miles away from King Kuas’ camp. 
The chief would not let him pass, though God¬ 
eredd insisted that he bore orders from Euas 
and from Attila. The truth was that he coveted 
the horses, but he pretended to Goderedd that 
he had sent to Euas for further proofs of the 
boy’s orders. Stryg gave him the slip and gal¬ 
loped back to the king’s camp. Euas sent the 
needed proof in the form of twenty horsemen, 
who cut off the chief’s two ears, in order, as 
they said, that he might hear the next orders 
better. ’ ’ 

Yet one adventure that happened to Goder¬ 
edd must be told, for it had some effect on the 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 89 

fate of Europe, many years later, when Attila 
had become known as ^‘The Scourge of God,’’ 
and when his name had become a word of fear 
over the length and breadth of Europe. 

Some three days after that slaying in Illyria 
of which Stryg refused to say a further word, 
Goderedd and his companions came to a dense 
forest. The road was a mere horse-track, though 
a well-beaten one. Wheels were little used in 
those days. 

Several times the three travelers sighted 
aurochs in the forest and kept a shrewd eye on 
them, for these European wild oxen (now ex¬ 
tinct) were given to savage charges at anything 
they saw. They were not swift enough to over¬ 
take a horse, but many were the charcoal- 
burners, hunters, or shepherds who were gored 
to death by aurochs. The Goths reveled in the 
chase of the aurochs, the Huns did not; the Asi¬ 
atics liked fighting only for the sake of slaugh¬ 
ter or spoil. 

Goderedd was riding forward quietly when 
he heard, from not very far away, the bellowing 
of an aurochs bull, and, as it seemed to him, 
cries for help. He drove the spurs into his horse, 
Euric and Stryg thundering on behind. 


90 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Fifty yards farther, at a turn of track, he 
galloped into a small clearing. Thence came the 
bellowing and the cries. 

Upon the ground lay two horses, one dead, 
the other dying, the fallen horse being, at that 
moment, savagely gored by a huge aurochs. The 
bull, a massive beast, more than five feet high 
at the shoulder, was pawing the ground and 
bellowing, its head slightly turned down ready 
to bring a wicked horn into action. It was facing 
a single man, who, .his back to twin trees rising 
from a single root, was standing with sword 
ready. The flutter of a cloak caught the Goth 
boy^s eye, and he saw a woman fleeing into the 
forest. 

‘ ^ Quick! Get her on one of the horses, Stryg! ’ ’ 
yelled Goderedd. He knew the Hun’s quick¬ 
ness of wit and his superb horsemanship. If 
the woman were but mounted, she could escape 
the aurochs; afoot, she was doomed. 

Throwing the reins of his horse to Euric, the 
boy leapt to the ground and rushed forward to 
the aid of the hard-set man. He advanced 
quickly but warily, for he had fought aurochs 
before and knew the dangerous character of 
these savage cattle, bigger and fiercer than 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 91 

any modern breed, and which, at that time, 
roamed in large numbers through the extensive 
forests of Europe. 

The stranger was fighting under difficulties. 
A small boy, not more than seven or eight years 
old, was crouched in the crotch of the two trees, 
in a position where it was difficult for the horns 
of the aurochs to reach him, and the father 
stood in front, to defend his son. 

The bull was bellowing with pain as well as 
rage, for a javelin had been driven deep into 
its neck; but, evidently, the weapon had not 
reached a vital spot. 

On seeing Goderedd the bull turned its head 
slightly, undecided whether to charge the new¬ 
comer or its former foe. 

The Goth boy cast a quick look at the ground 
around him to make sure that there were no 
brambles or undergrowths near to catch his 
feet, for he knew that the only way to escape 
an aurochs^ charge was to leap aside as the bull 
came on. The ground was clear. 

Goderedd advanced cautiously a step or two, 
the stranger calling out to him in Greek: 

‘‘Keep well behind the beast 

The advice was good. An aurochs was a heavy 


92 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

animal and could not turn with ease. Light- 
footedness was man’s principal defense in such 
a combat. 

At that moment, seeing that Goderedd still 
advanced, the hull decided to turn its fury on its 
new foe. Its bloodshot eye glared upon the boy, 
and, head down, it wheeled to make the charge. 
For this movement the Illyrian had been wait¬ 
ing, and, as the aurochs turned, he leaped for¬ 
ward and drove his sword in behind the shoul¬ 
der. The blade turned in his hand. 

The aurochs paid no heed to the glancing 
blow, and thundered on. 

Although Goderedd was prepared and ex¬ 
pecting it, the charge was so violently given 
that he had barely time to leap aside. It was 
well that he had kept behind the bull, or his 
sideward leap would have been too late. As it 
was, one of the horns almost grazed him. He 
had not time to recover his balance for a sword- 
blow when the bull had passed him, stopped in 
a cloud of dust, and wheeled again. 

Seeming to know that its second wound had 
come from its original opponent, the aurochs 
did not attack the boy again directly, but, turn¬ 
ing vdth a quickness that was surprising in so 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 


93 

seemingly cumbersome an animal, launched it¬ 
self furiously at the Illyrian, pinning the man 
to the tree by the shoulder. The tree shook with 
the blow, and the crash of the shock stunned the 
aurochs for a few seconds. 

Never could come a better opportunity! God- 
eredd dashed in from the side, and, knowing 
well w^here to strike, drove his sword with an 
overhand thrust behind the bull’s horns and 
into the brain. The great creature stood still 
a second, then rolled over, dying. It tried to get 
to its feet again, gave a convulsive struggle, 
then stretched, dead. 

For the first time, then, the Goth boy had a 
chance to turn and see what had happened to 
the other aurochs. For a moment or two he saw 
nothing but a confused jumble of horses, plung¬ 
ing and kicking, on the farther side of the clear¬ 
ing, where Stryg, having snatched up the 
woman, had come back to grab the reins of the 
others. Euric had just dismounted and was 
running forward, sword in one hand, javelin in 
the other, Stryg, the incomparable handler of 
horses, mastered his own and the other four, 
though all were rearing madly, made wild by 
the smell of blood. 


94 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

The unharmed aurochs, weary at last of gor¬ 
ing* the now dead horse, turned to face a human 
foe. For Euric, Goderedd had no fear; the man 
was a famous swordsman. Yet an aurochs, even 
a cow aurochs, was not an enemy to he taken 
lightly. The boy hurried forward, to help in the 
fight. 

Euric spoke calmly, not a trace of excitement 
in his voice, just as though he were engaged in 
ordinary conversation. 

‘^Eun into the forest. Master,’’ he said. ‘^The 
horses are too near.” 

Goderedd nodded. Of the aurochs, evidently, 
Euric had not the slightest fear, but there was a 
serious danger that the bull might turn, in¬ 
stead of attacking, and gore the horses that 
Stryg was holding. It would be difficult, if not 
impossible, for the Hun to escape holding five 
horses in hand, and, should they break away, 
the loss would be a grave one. Such horses as 
those were not to be found in all Illyricum. 

The boy came closer to the aurochs cow, to at¬ 
tract its attention, then, as though frightened, 
turned and took to his heels. 

The temptation of a fleeing foe was too great 
to be resisted. The aurochs charged after God- 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 95 

eredd, who ran a little distance, then, when the 
beast was nearly on him, dodged behind a tree, 
then ran again. Euric followed, keeping closely 
behind the infuriated animal. This maneuver 
was repeated, and, when Goderedd stopped the 
second time, the horses were out of sight. 

‘‘Now,” said Euric, “we can fight him com¬ 
fortably.” 

Despite the peril, Goderedd could not repress 
a smile at his follower’s casual phrase. He was 
excited, terribly excited, himself, for he had 
neither the man’s experience nor his disdain of 
danger, but Euric’s confidence calmed him and 
he tried to speak without showing any tremor. 

“What next!” he asked. 

“Come to this side. Then run swiftly across 
him and in front of him,” said Euric. “I will 
let my sword talk to him as he turns.” 

Goderedd did not hesitate. Coming broadside 
to the beast, he sped in front of him, a yard or 
two beyond reach of the spreading horns. The 
aurochs, confused, hooked viciously at the pass¬ 
ing boy, giving Euric exactly the position he 
wanted—the head of the animal down, the 
shoulder a little slewed. He took a few steps 
forward and drove his sword, two-handed, with 


96 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

a mighty stroke, squarely behind the aurochs’ 
shoulder. 

For an old hunter, warrior, and swordsman 
like Euric, a single blow was sufficient. The well- 
aimed blade pierced clear to the heart. 

In spite of the vital wound, the aurochs 
turned upon Euric, who, perfectly at his ease, 
shifted his javelin to his right hand and waited, 
shouting to Goderedd to keep away, for the 
vitality of an aurochs was astounding, and the 
old hunter knew well that no one can tell what 
a wounded animal will do. For himself, Euric 
was confident that he was master of the situa- 

N 

tion, and, if truth be told, he was enjoying him¬ 
self hugely. 

Again the aurochs charged, but Euric, seeing 
that the beast’s force was failing, contented 
himself with stepping aside, only holding his 
javelin ready should there be need to use it. 

There was none. The great creature halted, 
wavered, rocked his head from side to side, bel¬ 
lowed raucously, then fell on its knees, facing 
its foe. For fully a minute it knelt there, almost 
as though doing homage to its conqueror, then 
rolled over sideways, dead. 

Euric drew out his sword, wiped it tranquilly 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 97 

on the grass, and sauntered back to Stryg and 
the horses, without a word. 

Goderedd hurried to where he had left the 
wounded stranger, under the tree. The wound 
was bleeding freely, and one arm hung use¬ 
lessly. 

^‘The other beast is dead!” the boy an¬ 
nounced. 

The Illyrian nodded. He was suffering, and 
already growing weak from loss of blood. 

‘^My son is safe?” he queried. This was evi¬ 
dently his* chief preoccupation. 

Quite safe,” declared Goderedd, stretching 
out his hand to the little lad, as Stryg came 
forward with the frightened horses. The woman 
slipped down from the horse on which the Hun 
had placed her, and ran across the clearing to 
her husband. 

For a few moments, no one spoke, while she 
tore off a piece of her dress and bandaged her 
husband’s wounds. In those days of constant 
fighting, every woman was more or less a nurse. 

In spite of his pain, the Illyrian thanked the 
boy courteously, as soon as the bandaging was 
finished. He was clearly of the better class, as 
his dress and his manner showed. 


98 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘‘My name is Flavins/’ he said, “and I am 
a Roman citizen. This, my son, is Orestes. Com¬ 
mand us in anything, henceforth; we are your 
debtors for life.” 

Goderedd gave his name and told of his mis¬ 
sion as a courier of Attila’s, on his way to the 
court of Atawulf, in order to explain his pres¬ 
ence in the forest with only two followers. In 
those days, men did not travel through Europe 
save in well-armed bands, for the Europe of the 
fifth century was a little-occupied and heavily- 
forested territory where roamed wild beasts 
and wilder lawless men. 

“My house is not far,” said Flavius. “I shall 
be better when I can reach there. You will ac¬ 
cept our hospitality!” 

“I shall certainly accompany you home,” 
said Goderedd. “There may be other aurochs 
near. But how, since you were mounted, did the 
aurochs catch you! ’ ’ 

“I am a herbalist,” said Flavius, “and had 
dismounted a little distance back, to gather 
plants for medicine. Lycia, my wife, held my 
horse, for I had taken her with me since we were 
on our way to her sister, not half a day’s march 


FIGHTING AN AUROCHS 99 

from here. I was in the woods, collecting herbs, 
when I heard the bellowing and ran on, reach¬ 
ing the clearing to see my horse down and the 
aurochs charging the other. I was in time to 
snatch my son to safety and Lycia fled as the 
aurochs charged. It was then you came, God 
and the saints be praised 

Goderedd and Euric lifted the wounded man 
on one of the led horses, and an hour’s ride 
brought them to the herbalist’s house, a 
strongly fortified little place on the brow of a 
cliff. Closer examina.tion of the man’s wound 
showed that it was not dangerous, and, after 
resting the night there, Goderedd rode on. 

Flavius and Lycia he never saw again, but, 
many years after, Orestes presented himself at 
Attila’s camp, declaring himself bound to the 
chief by gratitude. He became the great Hun’s 
secretary and his ambassador to the court of 
Constantinople. 

How, afterwards, Orestes became the actual 
ruler of Rome, and how his son, Romulus Au- 
gustulus, became the last of the Emperors of 
Rome, is a tale beyond the limits of this story. 
But as Goderedd, Attila’s envoy, was the means 


loo IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


of saving Orestes’ life in boyhood, so was At- 
tila’s greatness, thirty years later, the cause of 
Orestes’ rise to power. 

How Goderedd came to Tergeste (Trieste) 
and learned of a plot against the Prefect of 
Illyricum; how he was welcomed and feasted by 
friends of Mirkhond in Patavium (Padua); 
how Euric saved his life in a tavern affray at 
Mantua; how the officials of the Imperial City 
of Mediolanum (Milan) suspected him and he 
had to escape by night; how—to evade pursuit 
—^he made his way over the Maritime Alps in 
the company of a band of freebooters; how 
Stryg was mauled by a bear in the dense woods 
that then clothed the region between Dinia 
(Digne) and Avenio (Avignon); how Goderedd 
was received by the Prefect of the great 
Eoman city of Arles, to which he was to re¬ 
turn in very different circumstances, with one 
of Attila’s sons, later; and how he came with 
all honors to the court of Atawulf, in Narbonne, 
are parts of Goderedd’s personal story which 
must be passed by. 

He reached Narbonne at Christmas-tide, a 
few weeks before the marriage of Atawulf to 
the Roman princess Gallia Placidia. Strange 



FIGHTING AN AUROCHS loi 


things were to happen to Goderedd, there, 
things which reacted upon Attila and upon 
Rome, things which loomed large in the trou¬ 
blous history of that troubled time. 


CHAPTER V 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 

It was with a brilliant escort and almost with 
the honors of an imperial embassy that God- 
eredd set out from Arles, for the Prefect of that 
city was well aware of the growing power of 
the Huns, and felt that it would be wise policy 
on his part to show their envoy every courtesy. 
The Goth boy^s entry into Narbonne was 
equally imposing. 

For two miles outside the walls of Narbonne 
stretched the camp of Atawulf. Goderedd was 
tremendously impressed by it. The thousands of 
tents, all uniform in size, scrubbed spotless 
white, dressed rigorously in even rows with 
wide spaces between, the arms piled before 
every fifth tent—^two men slept in each tent; the 
large tent for the centurion at the head of each 
row of fifty tents, and, beside it, the special 
engines of war for siege purposes; the section 
for the kitchens, bakeries, and provision mat- 


102 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 103 

ters, all well drained and scrupulously clean; 
the sentries posted everywhere; and the air of 
vigilance and order—all formed an astonishing 
sight to Goderedd, accustomed to the disorder, 
filth, and lack of discipline which were charac¬ 
teristic of a camp of the Huns. He saw, at once, 
there could be no surprising such a camp as this. 
A trumpet alarm, in the dead of night, could 
bring every man in the camp into the ranks in 
a couple of minutes. 

Fully five miles away from the city the party 
was challenged, and a horseman was sent at full 
speed to advise the Prefect of the Camp, first, 
and King Atawulf, afterwards, of the coming 
of an envoy. By the time that Goderedd and his 
escort reached the camp, a cohort had been 
turned out to provide fitting military honors, 
and Goderedd rode through the gates of the 
walled city of Narbonne with a line of soldiers 
on either hand. 

The young Goth was the object of not a lit¬ 
tle curiosity. As yet, few people in the West of 
Europe had heard of Attila, save as one of the 
most savage of the Hun leaders, but all had 
heard of Ruas, King of the Huns, and this was 
the first time that an envoy of the Huns had 


104 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

come into Ganl. No one knew whether the envoy 
brought tidings of peace or war. In those days, 
it was just as likely to he one as the other— 
the Huns might even be within marching dis¬ 
tance ! 

Narbonne was, in those days, a small and 
strangely built city, still containing some of the 
hide-roofed shelters of the barbarians who had 
first settled there, a large number of wooden 
huts, and, perhaps, a couple of hundred houses 
built after the pattern of a Roman villa, with 
a central court open to the sky. There was not, 
to speak strictly, any kingly palace, and Ata- 
wulf was not much more richly lodged than 
would have been an ordinary citizen of Rome. 

Goderedd had stayed a week as the guest of 
the Prefect of Arles, and this had prepared him, 
in a measure, for the court of Atawulf; indeed, 
the Prefect’s house was far more luxurious than 
that of the Visigothic King. Atawulf, desirous 
of pleasing his Roman followers, and seeking 
the position of a noble of the Roman Empire, 
had tried to banish from his surroundings 
everything that was not Roman and that sug¬ 
gested the Goth and the barbarian. He received 
Goderedd with an assumption of Roman man- 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 105 

ners which contrasted ill with his brusque ges¬ 
ture, loud voice, and giant frame. Though he 
admitted the boy to instant audience, he did not 
even attempt to show his utter disregard for the 
Huns. 

When Goderedd had given his message—his 
public message, that is to say, for he had an¬ 
other to be given privately—Atawulf answered 
roughly, 

‘‘This Attila of yours, is he a kingP^ 

“No, King Atawulf,’’ said Goderedd. “King 
Ruas rules the Huns.” 

“Then, why should he send a messenger to 
me?” 

“For courtesy.” 

“Courtesy from a savage!” Atawulf laughed 
outright. 

Goderedd flushed, but checked his rising an¬ 
ger. He was inexperienced, and did not know 
whether it was his duty as an envoy to protest 
or to remain silent. 

“This Attila,” continued Atawulf, “he is a 
heathen, doubtless?” 

“He is not a Christian, King,” the boy ad¬ 
mitted. 

“How dare he send a messenger to me!” 


io6 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


This time Goderedd could not remain silent. 

‘‘I am sent by King Enas and by Attila,’’ he 
said. ‘‘The Huns speak by me. King Kuas rules 
a country ten times larger than that of King 
Atawulf, and three hundred thousand spears 
follow him. One does not say ‘dare’ to the King 
of the Huns, and I do not hold it in my duty to 
accept the word.” 

Goderedd, his heart knocking at his ribs for 
his temerity, expected an explosion, but Atawulf 
only laughed. 

“The cockerel has already learned to crow!” 

It was clear that he only thought the better 
of the young fellow for his show of courage. 

A slightly built man, seated on the dais be¬ 
side Atawulf, but on a lower step, then leaned 
toward the King and spoke in a low voice warn- 
ingly. Atawulf interrupted him. 

“By Saint Cunegonde, Attains, you ask too 
much! Must I be badgered by every heathen 
who chooses to send an infant to me with a mes¬ 
sage ? Talk to him, yourself, if you will! ’ ’ 

He rose, as though to storm out of the hall, 
but a glance from Attains checked him. The 
Visigothic King sat down again with a laugh. 
Thus was Atawulf ever, rage and laughter; for 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 107 

an ill-taken jest he would have a man slain; he 
would pardon a traitor for the sake of a jest. 

Though Goderedd did not realize it at the 
time, this was the same Attains who once had 
been prefect of Rome, and whom Alaric had 
raised for a short time to a puppet emperor¬ 
ship because of his social gifts and friendship. 
He had been the most brilliant conversational¬ 
ist, story-teller, musician, and banqueting- 
companion in Rome, and had become Atawulf ^s 
boon comrade, as he had been that of Alaric. 
Always, in the back of his mind, was the mem¬ 
ory that he had been Emperor; always the hope 
that he might be, again. In such a position, 
every alliance might be of service, and Attains 
saw the folly of needlessly insulting an envoy 
of the Huns. 

Cleverly, without in any way offending Ata- 
wulf, who sat there tugging at his beard. At¬ 
tains considered Goderedd’s message, flattered 
him on his position as an envoy, despite his 
youth, showed a thorough understanding of the 
power and importance of the Huns, and con¬ 
veyed the impression that everything could be 
arranged favorably, without having committed 
Atawulf to a single action. Goderedd was not 


io8 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


misled, but, as his message did not call for any 
immediate response, and as Mirkhond had 
hinted that a lengthy stay in Gaul would do 
him no harm, he agreed apparently to every¬ 
thing Attains had to say. 

Not till the end of the audience did Atawulf 
speak again. 

‘ ‘ See to it. Lord Attains, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ that this 
young champion of the heathen be well lodged, 
and that there be no stint of gold and slaves. Let 
him see that Atawlf does not live in a leaking 
tent, and eat raw horse-flesh! ’ ’ 

Goderedd, with some difficulty, repressed a 
smile. The ^ leaking tent’^ of King Enas, as he 
remembered it, was a wooden hall—canvas- 
roofed, it was true—but big enough to have put 
Atawulf ^s house in, and with room to spare. 
The interior was hung with curtains dyed with 
Tyrian purple, priceless in those times, the bare 
earth was hidden in a profusion of Persian car¬ 
pets, and no utensil could be found that was not 
of solid hammered gold. As for ‘‘raw horse¬ 
flesh,’’ though Attila still lived simply. King 
Euas had a dozen cooks for his special service. 

Atawulf’s orders were swiftly carried out, 
and, before night, Goderedd was comfortably 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 109 

housed, with a full staff of household slaves; 
among the articles sent into the house by the 
King was a small casket full of gold pieces. 
Goderedd accepted this quite naturally, since, 
in those days, gold was only to be procured by 
pillage, or as a gift from king or noble. 

Having shown himself so rough at the com¬ 
mencement, Atawulf characteristically changed 
both in manner and conduct. Scarcely was God¬ 
eredd installed in his house than the Visigothic 
King invited himself to a banquet there, came 
in roistering good-humor, slapped Goderedd on 
the back, swore eternal friendship, and was car¬ 
ried home drunk. Next morning, at daybreak, he 
was on horseback at the head of his troops for 
a foray against the Vandals, rode like a mad¬ 
man and fought like a fury, as daring as he was 
indefatigable. A Goth of the Goths was Atawulf, 
with all the strength and weaknesses of his race. 

Attains, himself, presented Goderedd to Gal¬ 
lia Placidia, in terms of the highest praise. They 
were scarcely needed. The Roman princess, 
soon to be Atawulf’s queen, liked the boy from 
the first moment, and put him quite at his ease. 
Gallia Placidia was tall and stately for a Ro¬ 
man, firm and gentle in manner, having sus- 


no IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


tained with dignity and poise her capture by the 
Goths and her subsequent wanderings. 

mil not detain you from affairs of state, 
Lord Attalus,^’ she said, after an hour or so 
had been spent in courtesies. ‘T have heard 
much about Attila, but never yet have I met any 
one who has seen him.’’ She toyed idly with a 
parchment on the stone table. ^Tt will interest 
me to hear more.” 

This was a dismissal, and Attains bowed him¬ 
self out with perfect understanding. 

When he had gone, Goderedd stepped for¬ 
ward a little closer. 

Princess,” he said, have a message for 
you, alone. No one can hear?” 

‘‘No,” she said, “no one. From whom is your 
message? From Attila?” 

“No, Princess. From my Lord Mirkhond.” 

The Homan lady did not make any gesture of 
surprise, but Goderedd felt the intensity of her 
concentration. 

“The mage Mirkhond is a wise friend,” she 
said. “Also, he has a noble mind.” 

“I will tell him that you said so. Princess. 
This is his message: 

“ ‘To the Empress Gallia Placidia—’ ” 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 


III 


‘‘Did you say ‘Empress’?’^ 

Goderedd bowed and repeated : 

“ ‘To the Empress Gallia Placidia, from the 
mage Mirkhond, honored salutations and well- 
augured greetings. I send you Goderedd, the 
Amaling, to be the friend and confidant of the 
mother of emperors. When comes the moment 
of your deepest humiliation, prepare yourself 
for a throne.’ ” 

For several minutes Gallia Placidia did not 
speak. She was studying the phrases, one by 
one. 

“You are an Amaling!” she said, at last. 

Goderedd colored. Now that he actually had 
given the message, it seemed a vain one. 

“It is so. Princess. So, at least, I have ever 
been told.” 

“If Mirkhond says so, it is true. You are of 
royal blood, then. But ‘friend and confidant!’ 
Goderedd the Amaling, these are big words.” 

The young fellow looked at her. 

“I can but try to deserve them. Princess.” 

She looked very kindly at him. 

“Mirkhond understands; he always under¬ 
stands. I am lonely, here. Tell me about your¬ 
self.” 


112 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


Again Goderedd flushed, and stammered 
some commonplaces. 

Gallia Placidia smiled gently. She saw the 
boy was in difficulties. 

‘‘Tell me about your mother,’’ she suggested. 

The boy’s head went up. Here, he could speak. 
He told the whole story, the Hun raid, the slay¬ 
ing of his mother, the vengeance, and his grat¬ 
itude to Attila. 

‘ ‘ I should have liked to have known Orfrida, ’ ’ 
said the Eoman princess, when Goderedd had 
finished the tale. 

It may have been policy, or real feeling. In 
either case, Gallia Placidia won Goderedd’s de¬ 
votion and loyalty from that moment. He took, 
from the very first, the position of “friend and 
confidant” which Mirkhond had suggested, and 
few were the days that Goderedd did not spend 
at least a couple of hours in the Princess’ pres¬ 
ence. 

Nothing could have been more useful to him. 
Brought up in a Hun camp, the young fellow 
was ignorant of a thousand little things which 
were the daily life of a cultured court—even 
such a semi-cultured court as that of Atawulf 
—and Placidia helped him and taught him, 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 113 

much as an elder sister might have done. She 
soon learned, too, to value Goderedd’s solid 
common sense, and he learned, through her, 
all the intrigues and plottings of the Eastern 
and Western Empires. 

Gallia Placidia had suffered much since her 
capture by Alaric, though both the conqueror 
and his successor, Atawulf, had treated her 
with respect. She told him—^what he did not 
know—that the refusal of the Emperor Hono- 
rius to make a treaty with Atawulf was due to 
the influence of Constantins, who had taken Stil- 
icho’s place as commander-in-chief of the ar¬ 
mies. Honorius had promised Placidia’s hand 
to Constantins, but Atawulf would not give her 
up. And now, half by force, half by persuasion, 
he was to marry her. 

‘^He is very rough,’’ said Placidia, confiden¬ 
tially to Goderedd, with a slight grimace, “but 
it is better to be Queen than captive. And I hate 
Constantins!” 

Atawulf went to extreme pains to make the 
occasion as brilliant as possible, that it might 
really be regarded as an imperial wedding. It 
was a curious medley of Roman pagan and Ro¬ 
man Christian customs, but everything that sug- 


,114 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

gested Goth or barbarian was rigidly excluded. 

The bride-cake was eaten at sunrise, in the 
presence of ten witnesses, which was pagan; the 
wedding ceremony was celebrated by the bishop, 
which was Christian. The Queen wore flowers 
in her hair, which she had plucked that very 
day, also pagan; the ring was blessed with Holy 
Water. Christian clergy escorted the newly 
married couple from church to palace, chanting 
a liturgy; but the Queen put oil and wool on 
the doorposts, and the King lifted and carried 
her across the threshold and gave her a torch 
and a goblet of water. Lavish gifts were made to 
the populace, and, to the last detail, everything 
was carried out as though the little Gallic town 
of Narbonne were Imperial Eome. 

‘‘All this is an imitation in a mirror,’’ said 
the Queen to Goderedd, in an aside. “Pinning 
an eagle’s tail to a sea-gull does not make the 
sea-bird an eagle. Atawulf does not understand. 
It is glory that makes greatness. Eome has the 
glory of ages, Narbonne has none.” 

Goderedd, who had made himself well liked 
by Atawlf and was known to be a loyal friend 
to the Queen-Elect, was given an honorable 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 115 

place in the wedding festivities. At the banquet, 
he was seated at a table on the lower step of the 
dais with the Roman prefect of Arles, the High 
Chief of the Alains, Attains, the Visigoth 
princes, and envoys sent from the Vandals and 
the Bnrgunds. 

The Visigoth king was dressed as a Roman 
Christian patrician, and his seat was placed on 
a dais a few inches lower than that of his bride, 
to show that, as the sister of the Emperor, he 
considered her imperial rank higher than his 
kingly crown. Among the presents were a hun¬ 
dred golden bowls, filled with precious stones. 
The chorus—an essential part of the ceremony 
among Romans of high rank—was led by At¬ 
tains, the former emperor. 

Besides being in the confidence of Placidia, 
Goderedd had carefully sought to learn the gen¬ 
eral feeling of the Visigoths as to this marriage. 
As envoy, it was his duty to send a full report 
to Attila, and this he intended to do by Stryg. 
Wulfric, one of the Visigothic princes, a blunt 
old warrior, expressed curtly the sentiments of 
the army: 

^^Look you, Goderedd,” he said, ‘This mar- 


ii6 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


riage is a sword without a hilt. No one can hold 
it. Why should Atawulf, a Goth, behave like a 
Koman apeT’ 

Earlier in the day, Attains had given him the 
ideas of the Eomans in the army. 

‘‘The legions will not acclaim Queen Pla- 
cidia,’’ he said gravely. “As a captive, she was 
still a Eoman and the Emperor’s sister; as 
Queen, she is only a barbarian’s wife.” 

Goderedd, too, was quick to see that this mar¬ 
riage would not help Atawulf’s position with 
the Emperor, and the events which followed 
swiftly proved the rightness of his. judgment. 
The commander-in-chief, Constantins, who 
wished to marry Placidia, himself, was furious 
when the news of this marriage reached Ea- 
venna, and only waited his chance for revenge 
upon the Visigothic king. 

As it was a chief part of Goderedd’s mission 
to bring about a tentative agreement between 
Attila and Atawulf—^part of Mirkhond’s plan 
for strengthening the Hiin’s fame in Western 
Europe—the young envoy saw clearly that he 
should not urge this alliance, until Atawulf’s 
position to the Eoman Empire was clearly es¬ 
tablished, one way or the other. It was neces- 



A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 117 

sary, therefore, for him to remain at the Visi- 
gothic court. 

Goderedd felt that it was to Placidia that he 
owed his chief duty, for his oath to become the 
guardian of Attila’s sons could not bind him 
until at least one son was born to the Hun chief. 
He became, therefore, the official courier of the 
Queen, and, in her interest and that of Ata- 
wulf, made several journeys to the Emperor’s 
court at Ravenna, and to the court of the Van¬ 
dal kings, at, Barcelona. For many years there¬ 
after, his fate and that of the Queen were 
closely linked. 

The ambition of Attains was the next move 
in this great world-drama. He wished to become 
Emperor again, and persuaded Atawulf to 
proclaim him as such, in place of Honorius, on 
the ground that Honorius had once been de¬ 
posed, on the orders of Alaric. Technically, this 
was absurd, for only the Roman Senate had the 
right to proclaim an emperor. Attains, thus, 
was nothing more than a usurper, an open rebel 
to Honorius and to the Empire. This gave Con¬ 
stantins his opportunity for revenge upon the 
barbarian king who had married the woman 
Constantins desired. 


ii8 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


His first move was a masterly one. He ordered 
the African provinces to stop sending wheat to 
the ports of Gaul, thus starving Atawulf’s 
army. With mercenary troops, control of the 
food-supply is essential—it is this which ex¬ 
plains the great Vandal invasion of Africa that 
came a few years later. 

Constantins landed, with a substantial army, 
and marched upon Narbonne. Since Attains was 
now an alleged emperor, he must seem to com¬ 
mand an army. But the troops would have none 
of him, for he was neither a Goth, like them¬ 
selves, nor yet a properly appointed emperor. 
They deserted, hundreds at a time. 

Attains fled, tried to escape by sea, but was 
captured by a Eoman fleet and sent to Eavenna 
as a prisoner. Honorius ordered that two of the 
usurper’s fingers be cut otf—since no mutilated 
person might sit on the throne of the Caesars— 
and banished Attains to the Lipari Islands, 
where he died in poverty and exile. 

With Attains thus disposed of, Constantins 
continued his march upon Narbonne. Atawulf’s 
army was by far the larger, but it had no steady 
supply of food, since all the wheat-ships had 
been stopped. Atawulf and Placidia were com- 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 119 

pelled to retreat along the coast, crossing the 
foothills of the Pyrenees into the country of the 
Vandals (Spain). He swept the Vandals before 
him, besieged and captured Barcelona, and 
made that city his royal residence. Constantins, 
having driven the Visigoths from Gaul and re¬ 
established the imperial power there, returned 
to Ravenna. Placidia was still out of his reach. 
Goderedd, as an envoy, took no part in the fight¬ 
ing, but remained close beside the Queen in 
every moment of danger. 

In Barcelona, Placidia bore a son. The baby 
was christened Theodosius, for Goderedd had 
told Atawulf of Mirkhond’s prophecy that the 
Queen should be a mother of emperors. But the 
child died a few months afterwards, and, a year 
later, Atawulf was murdered. With his dying 
breath the king bade his brother take the throne, 
and urged him to send Placidia back to Ra¬ 
venna, charging Goderedd with the mission. 

The dying king’s orders were not heeded. The 
Goths would have nothing to do with Atawulf’s 
brother, who, also, had adopted Roman ways; 
they wanted a Goth of their own rude manners 
for a king. They chose a rough barbarian named 
Sigeric. 


120 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


The very day after his election as king, Sig- 
eric ordered the slaughter of all the six chil¬ 
dren of Atawulf (by a former wife), an act of 
cruelty which met with grim disapproval. Two 
days later, he ordered a march of triumph 
through Barcelona and all the country round, 
in honor of his coronation. Of that triumph, 
there is much to tell. 

Though Placidia was in deep grief for the 
sudden murder of her husband, dead only four 
days, the barbarous Sigeric ordered her to take 
part in his triumph, with the intention of mar¬ 
rying her himself, by force, without any regard 
to her recent widowhood. The Queen refused, 
and Sigeric sent this curt message: 

^‘King Sigeric does not ask the opinion of 
women. A royal order speaks obedience or 
death. ’ ^ 

^^Tell him—Deathsaid the Eoman woman, 
proudly. 

Goderedd, who had been summoned by the 
Queen to hear the messenger, intervened. 

^Tf Queen Placidia will permit— 

Speak, my friend.’’ 

''Then would I say to King Sigeric that no 
messenger, who is not royal, can carry a mes- 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 121 


sage from a queen to a king, but that you will 
give him his answer personally.’^ 

‘^You hear!” said Placidia. The messenger 
saluted and left. 

Queen,” said the young fellow, ^^do not op¬ 
pose Sigeric at this time. Remember the proph¬ 
ecy of Mirkhond: ^When comes the moment of 
your deepest humiliation, prepare yourself for 
a throne.’ ” 

had forgotten,” said the Queen. ‘‘There is 
wisdom in your counsel, Goderedd.” 

Accordingly, when Sigeric stormed into the 
Queen’s palace, he was received with icy cour¬ 
tesy. To his fiery barbarian rudeness Placidia 
opposed a calm superiority, which galled him to 
the last pitch of his self-control, but, in Goder¬ 
edd’s presence, he dared not go too far, for he 
knew that every unwise word would be re¬ 
peated in Rome and distant Scythia. 

“King Sigeric shall be obeyed,” said she, 
“since it is a royal order. Let him consider 
whether a grief-stricken queen’s obedience will 
add to his triumph!” 

Raging within, for this submission gave him 
no excuse for violence, Sigeric left the palace in 
an even worse temper than he had come. 


122 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


The triumph was set for the next day and 
all the troops were gathered to take part in it, 
for Sigeric’s chief desire was to show himself, 
crowned, to all the soldiery. But he rode 
out, black-heartedly, determined to punish the 
Queen openly for her thinly-veiled contempt. 

A few hundred yards from the palace, he 
turned upon her, ordered the widowed Queen 
to dismount, and to walk on foot behind his 
horse. 

Goderedd, who, as the Queen’s courier and 
confidant, was riding beside her, confronted the 
barbarian. 

‘‘King Sigeric!” he said bluntly. “Such an 
order is unworthy both of a Goth and a Chris¬ 
tian King.” 

Sigeric flashed out his sword, but Goderedd 
only backed his horse a pace or two, shifting 
his shield to readiness but leaving his own 
sword sheathed. 

“Who touches me,” he said, quietly, “touches 
a million Huns.” 

The furious king pressed forward, blade up¬ 
raised, but a stern hum of disapproval from 
every side warned him not to go too far. The 
Goths were a free people, and the Goth soldiers 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 123 

were proudly insistent on' their right to liberty 
of thought and action. 

‘‘Do the Huns deny a king’s right to give or¬ 
ders in his own kingdom?” stormed Sigeric. 

Goderedd found himself in a trap. In his chiv¬ 
alry for the Queen, he had certainly exceeded 
his rights as an envoy. But he had learned, long 
ago, from Mirkhond, that an action impresses 
an army more than any subtlety of word. 

“No, King,” he said, speaking loudly, that 
all might hear. “I speak not, now, for Attila. I 
speak for myself. I speak as a Goth, in this mat¬ 
ter, for I think as a Goth!” 

Gravely and meaningly he dismounted from 
his horse, and set himself, on foot, beside Gallia 
Placidia. 

“Ride, King Sigeric,” he said. “Where a 
woman walks, a warrior is not shamed to walk; 
where a queen of the Goths goes afoot, no Goth 
is shamed to go afoot. 

“Ride, King Sigeric. The Sister of the Em¬ 
peror, the Queen of Atawulf, and the envoy of 
a million Huns go on foot. Glory in your tri¬ 
umph. Goths will understand I ’ ’ 

A roar of acclamation, beginning low and 
spreading widely as the news carried, greeted 




rT 


124 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

these words. The young fellow’s act just caught 
the hot and chivalrous temper of the Goths, the 
only people, in those times, who still retained 
the Northern respect for woman. The clever¬ 
ness of the trick pleased them, too, for Sigeric 
could not order Placidia back to horse again 
without admitting that he had been publicly 
rebuked and corrected by a mere youth. 

The newly crowned king rode on furiously, 
but the news of Goderedd’s deed ran ahead of 
the procession. Few were the cries of ‘‘Hail, 
King Sigeric! ’ ’ that met his ears as he rode in 
his shameful triumph; many were the cries of; 
“Hail, the Queen!” 

Goth generals and captains broke from the 
rude line of march and spurred forward to 
shout boisterous encouragement to Goderedd, 
all the twelve long miles of that way. Before the 
palace was reached again, Placidia was almost 
fainting with exhaustion, and was forced to lean 
heavily upon Goderedd for support. Her state 
excited the pity of the Goths, and the triumphal 
procession ended in a rumble of muttering 
among the warriors. Sigeric reached his palace 
in black vexation and vindictive hate. 



“Where a queen of the Goths goes afoot, no Goth is 

SHAMED TO GO AFOOT!’’—Page 123, 











•■ ' ■^■•', .. taraRSIfc'- . ' 


11 






i 




• f • 


A 


V 

, ■* 


1 i. * - '■ : 71 T'3. 





:<^v ^., ■» 


‘■•■fl \|. ' '7 

•• • ‘ 'r < KT *fli 

tM* * . ■ r3^ A * 




^ .-.f 


', • • j,. 




. T:.’iMa.i--V t''.<■/.. .■'■i f-- -ts 

^‘t-^7 ‘ ^ 

,: ■>■■ ■ - ■■- ■• ' ■’ 

mmfk^M,* * V, * t- . * -. -. >f v *i39iB 

'. l' ... •:.:. '.^''r.• - ^ •'>?. '-.. .' 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 125 

Four days later, he was assassinated. His 
reign had lasted just one week. 

Walya, one of the Visigoth princes, was made 
king in his place. From the first, Walya de¬ 
clared himself an open enemy of Rome, but he 
showed every deference to Placidia. He sum- 
moned Goderedd to his presence on the day of 
coronation, and, in the presence of his generals, 
approved the young fellow’s courage during 
Sigeric’s triumphal procession. 

send, to-day, a courier to Attila,” he said, 
^Ho tell how his envoy has honored the court 
of the Huns from which he comes, the court of 
the Visigoths to which he has come, and the 
court of the Emperor Honorius in respect to an 
imperial princess, by a deed which was worthy 
of a warrior and a Goth!” 

Shield rang on shield, as the Goths approved 
the new king’s words. 

Strong as had been Goderedd’s position in 
the court of Atawulf, it was tenfold stronger 
now. Walya offered to make the young fellow 
a noble—little dreaming that Goderedd was an 
Amaling, and therefore of birth more royal than 
his own—but Goderedd declined. Honors, he 



126 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

answered, should come only from the Hnn chief 
to whom his oath of allegiance was passed. 

Walya showed himself an able general. He 
held his own for some years against the im¬ 
perial troops, and he drove the Vandals out 
of Spain, conquering the entire peninsula. But 
a single season of bad crops did what the Eo- 
mans and the Vandals together could not do. 
Famine threatened his armies. He was com¬ 
pelled to equip a fleet, in a reckless endeavor to 
seize the Eoman wheat-provinces in Africa. 

As with Alaric, so with Walya. A storm de¬ 
stroyed his ships, and the pressure of hunger 
upon his army drove him to make peace with 
Eome. On the receipt of corn from Africa, he 
formally surrendered to Honorius, and sent 
Placidia back to Eavenna under the charge of 
Goderedd, now an experienced soldier and 
courtier, though only twenty-two years old. 

Walya, no longer a rebel, but commander of 
all the armies in Spain, soon forced the entire 
country to accept the imperial rule, and sent 
the two leading Vandal kings to the triumphal 
procession which Honorius celebrated in Eome. 

Constantins, however, fearing that Walya in 


A SHAMEFUL TRIUMPH 127 

Spain, and the Vandals, in Africa, might some 
time make an alliance against Rome, which 
would imperil the wheat-provinces, persuaded 
the Emperor to give to the Visigoths all the 
southwestern part of Gaul, the richest part of 
the country. In 418 , the Goths marched out of 
Spain to occupy this favored land, and to make 
Toulouse their capital. 

The year following, Walya died. He was suc¬ 
ceeded by Theodoric the Visigoth—(not Theo- 
doric the Great), against whom Attila’s sword 
was sharpened some twenty years later. 

Goderedd had reached Ravenna some little 
time after Walya’s surrender. He was received 
with every honor by the Emperor Honorius and 
was otfered a high post in the imperial court. 
Goderedd declined. News had come to him that 
Attila was married and had a son. His oath 
called him back to Scythia. 

Upon Placidia’s earnest request, however, he 
stayed in Ravenna until her marriage to Con¬ 
stantins, who was then made joint emperor with 
Honorius. Placidia thus became an empress, as 
Mirkhond had prophesied. 

Then, rich in honors and in fame, at the head 


128 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

} 

of five hundred picked lances, given him by the 
two Emperors as a personal body-guard and 
following, Goderedd set back across Eastern 
Europe to the camp of the Huns. Upon his arm 
clanked the three armlets of Attila. 


CHAPTER VI 


A NIGHT OF TEEACHERY 

‘‘Lord Goderedd, a Hun rides, belly to ground 
as though pursued!’’ 

The leader of the advance guard of God¬ 
eredd’s little troop fell back and saluted. 

“He has a force behind him, Andagis?” 

“No, Lord; he is alone.” 

“A messenger, then. Halt, men, and welcome 
him.” 

With a clash and clatter of accouterments, the 
five hundred horsemen came to a halt, and 
Goderedd rode forward a few paces. 

The Hun did not check his speed till within 
a few yards of the young Goth, then drew rein 
and stopped like a thunderbolt checked in its 
path. 

“Goderedd!” he cried. “Attila is in danger. 
Ride!” 

Without waiting for further explanation, 
Goderedd turned in his saddle and waved to his 
following. 


130 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

They broke into a stretching gallop, the 
steppe-bred horse of the Hun, though winded, 
easily keeping the pace of the heavier chargers 
of the southlands. 

‘‘Speak!’’ said Goderedd. “What is the dan¬ 
ger to Attilal Speak clearly, for I have scarce 
heard the tongue of the Huns these seven 
years.” 

“Attila rides back from Media, with heavy 
spoil. He hastes to wife and child. The army 
marches with baggage three days to the rear. 
Badun Khan, the Mongol traitor, raids the camp 
this night, while Attila sleeps. He promises his 
Mongols all the spoil. With Attila dead, Badun 
Khan will make himself king.” 

“Who told you?” 

“Aetius, the African.” 

“A Eoman prisoner! He is in the conspiracy, 
most likely.” 

“He pretends to be, to foil the Mongol chief. 
Badun Khan offers him the command of the 
army. He sends me. He says a Eoman hostage 
may not break his word nor betray his captor 
under any conditions.” 

“You have heard of my coming, then!” 

“Three days ago a swift rider came, God- 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 131, 

eredd. Aetius told Badun Khan last night that 
you were still two days’ ride away. To-morrow 
you would be ambushed. Badun Khan vows 
your death.” 

Goderedd considered this statement care¬ 
fully, as his experience in diplomacy had 
trained him to do. He knew something of this 
Aetius, son of Boniface, Count of Africa. Aetius 
had been taken as a hostage by Alaric the Goth, 
freed, then seized as hostage again in a Hun 
raid. 

On the face of it, the story was not at all im¬ 
probable. The Mongols were the most rebellious 
of the heathen tribes gathered loosely under 
Attila’s banner, and, during Goderedd’s ab¬ 
sence, they had plunged into Europe in such 
large numbers as to become a serious menace 
to the Huns. 

‘‘Badun Khan has many men!” the young 
Goth asked. 

“Beyond the Mother Mountains (Ural Mts.) 
the blades of grass are more easily counted. 
In the camp but a few; not more than four 
thousand. King Ruas is far away. Bleda, the 
brother of Attila—” 

“I know Bleda I” interrupted Goderedd. 


132 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘^Then you know a water-viper. If Attila be 
slain, the power of Badun Khan and Bleda will 
swell like a dead horse.’’ 

Bleda is in the plot, thenT’ 

‘‘It is not known.” 

Goderedd nodded. Bleda would surely plot 
his brother’s death, but as surely would cleverly 
avoid openly embroiling himself therein. 

“Is there time for us to reach the camp?” he 
asked, anxiously. 

“Badun Khan will not strike before the moon 
goes down, near morning. If your horses are 
good—” 

“They are the pick of the stables of the 
Emperor.” 

The Hun spat in contempt of all horses other 
than the wild ponies of the steppe, crossed, as 
they were, with pure Arabian blood. 

“Where is Mirkhond?” queried the young 
Goth. 

“He comes, slowly, with the main army.” 

“Has Attila been warned?” 

“No. Aetius said not. As a messenger, he 
trusted only me.” 

“Why did he choose you?” 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 133 

‘T am Rorik, nephew of King Uldin, brother 
of Rhekan, the wife of Attila.’^ 

“Of royal blood, then! My homage, Rorik!’’ 
Goderedd drew his sword half out of the scab¬ 
bard and presented the hilt to the Hun, who 
touched it in acceptance. “Yet it seems to me 
that, had you ridden to Attila instead, he could 
have waited until the army came, fallen upon 
Badun Khan, and stamped the traitor to pulp 
under his horse’s feet.” 

“You have forgotten Attila. He would not 
have waited for a thousand like Badun Khan. 
My ride would be as a lance without a point. 
Should he wait, the Mongols would slay Rhekan, 
his woman, and Ellak.” 

“Ellak? That is the son of Attila?” 

“His son.” 

“That must not be!” cried Goderedd ex¬ 
citedly. “My oath forbids it!” 

He turned to his little troop of cavalry. 

“Men! Before the moon goes down to-night, 
we must be at the camp of Attila. A night at¬ 
tack against the Mongols, and work for every 
sword! ’ ’ 

The men clashed shields with stern delight. 


134 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Picked men all, fighting was their pleasure as 
well as their trade. 

‘ ‘ Two pieces of gold for every man, and honor 
besides. On!’’ 

They shouted, raising their lances in air as 
salutation, and galloped forward. 

Eorik turned in the saddle and scanned the 
group with a critically approving eye. 

‘^What men?” he queried. 

‘‘Veterans all,” said Goderedd, “lances taken 
from the cavalry arm of the legions of the aux¬ 
iliaries, and given to me by the Emperors Hon- 
orius and Constantins for a personal follow¬ 
ing. They are ready to take service under At- 
tila.” 

“You will speak them,” said Eorik. “I, my¬ 
self, wdll give a piece of gold for every Mon¬ 
gol head blackening in to-morrow’s sun.” 

Goderedd translated, and the men shouted 
anew. This was war as they liked it: a dash in 
the night, the wild confusion of a startled camp, 
the soft shock of steel in flesh, the death-cries, 
the danger, the lust of battle, and gold to be 
had for the winning. That their foes were hea¬ 
thens only made their joy the fiercer. They 
broke out into the half-Christianized saga- 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 135 

chants of the North, for, Romans though they 
called themselves, nearly all were of Celtic or of 
Gothic blood. 

They rode on steadily for some hours. Then 
Rorik led them to a tiny settlement of Huns, 
where were food and wine for the men, hay and 
grain for the horses. Goderedd chafed at the 
delay, for the memory of his oath spurred him 
on, hut he knew that a Hun would never mis¬ 
judge distance or a horse’s speed. The soldiers, 
full-fed, slept till nearly evening, wakening 
fresh and eager for a night of bloody work. 

‘^What is the plan of attack, Rorik?” queried 
Goderedd, when they were on the way, again. 

‘^You command!” said the Hun. 

am Attila’s man, and know what is your 
due. The nephew of King Attila commands.” 

‘^No,” answered Rorik. ‘T am a Hun; I fight 
Huns’ ways. Your men are legionaries. They 
need their own leadership.” 

‘‘Since you order it, Rorik. How does the 
camp lie ? ” And the two men entered into a dis¬ 
cussion of tactics. 

The task before them was not an easy one. 
With but five hundred men against two thou¬ 
sand, no encircling movement could be tried, 


136 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

nor could the little band dare to make a stand, 
though, as Roman cavalry, they were more 
heavily armed than the Asiatic swordsmen. 
Even to divide the troop into two was danger¬ 
ous, but this was necessary. As they rode on in 
the moonlight, the plan was matured in all its 
details. 

A hundred men, under Atagis, Goderedd’s 
chief lieutenant, were to stampede the Mongol 
camp a few minutes after the murdering band 
under Badun Khan had ridden away. This was 
to prevent the sending of any Mongol reenforce¬ 
ments. Since the number of the attackers was 
so small, they were not to make a halt for any 
prolonged fighting, merely to cut their way 
through the camp, wheel to the right, and pur¬ 
sue a course parallel to that taken by Badun 
Khan. This would bring them to the rear of 
the Mongols. 

Three hundred and fifty men, under Rorik, 
were to ride straight for Attila’s camp, and 
to remain hidden just over the brow of the hill 
until the Mongols could be heard coming. They 
were then to charge them in full flank, the slope 
of the hill aiding them, thus preventing Badun 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 137 

Khan from forming in battle line. If possible, 
they were to cut their way through, in order to 
join the rest of the company upon the further 
side. 

Goderedd, with fifty men, would, at the same 
moment, ride directly to the tent of Attila, wak¬ 
ening the mighty leader, rescuing Rhekan and 
Ellak, and would circle the camp to the point 
of contact with the conjoined parties. Attila, 
leading, would then take command. 

So exact was Rorik’s judgment of distance 
and pace that Atagis’ men arrived at their post 
just a few minutes before the setting of the 
moon. There was scarcely an hour left to day¬ 
light. The horsemen were near enough to hear 
the distant sounds of the Mongol camp, yet far 
enough away that any slight jingle of a horse’s 
trappings could not be heard to betray their 
presence to the enemy. 

Not more than a quarter of an hour did they 
have to wait, just time to breathe the horses. 
Soon, torches'blazed in the camp to light the 
saddling and departure. 

Atagis ordered his men to horse. The hard¬ 
bitten mercenaries jested as they mounted, but 


138 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

in hoarse whispers. In a few moments, the dis¬ 
tant torches twinkled out. 

Badun Khan had ridden forth for his black 
night ^s work. 

Without any sound other than hoof-beats, 
the Roman lances plunged into and through the 
Mongol camp, surprising many unarmed men 
still standing in groups after the departure of 
Badun Khan. So sudden was the surprise, so 
violent the charge, that the Mongols had no 
time for resistance. Back through the camp 
again, and yet again, only the third time meet¬ 
ing with any fighting, and each time they dashed 
through, one or two Mongols fell to every 
trooper. 

^ Satisfied, but utterly silent—for they did not 
wish to betray the smallness of their numbers 
—the troop wdieeled to the right and rode on, 
having lost but two men in the half-hour’s fight¬ 
ing. 

Badun Khan, unconscious of what was pass¬ 
ing in his rear, rode on swiftly, his heart filled 
with assurance and hope, for it seemed certain 
that Attila could not escape him. His scouts 
had brought word that the great conqueror had 
left his army and ridden on with only a hand- 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 139 

ful of men. There were not a thousand people 
in the Hun camp, women and children included, 
and Badun Khan had issued orders that no 
prisoners should be taken, nor any wounded 
left. 

The Mongol chief had no reason to suspect 
that his plot might be known, and he did not 
wish a single survivor to remain to tell the tale. 
True, Aetius knew, but the Roman—in order to 
allay the khan^s suspicions—had spoken with 
such seeming hate of Attila, that Badun Khan 
was far from imagining that the hostage would 
try to save the life of his captor. 

Savagely rejoicing, the khan came just within 
sight of the tents of the camp when, out of the 
darkness, suddenly rang the rhythm of hoof- 
beats, and, without a battle-cry, into the midst 
of the unsuspecting Mongols came the heavily 
armed and superbly disciplined cavalry of the 
empire. 

Against so compact and unprepared a mass of 
men, a lance could not fail to strike a foe, even 
in the dark, and three hundred of the Asiatics 
fell at the first onset. The Roman swords were 
out and hewing before the Mongols could re¬ 
cover from the first shock. 


140 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Badun Khan did not dare to stop and fight, 
for the tent of Attila was only a scant half 
mile away. Unless he reached there in complete 
surprise, unless he caught Attila sleeping, his 
plan was foiled, for he would not dare to face 
Attila awake. 

While he was yet a few hundred yards away, 
a trumpet-call rang through the camp, and up 
between the irregularly pitched tents thundered 
Goderedd, fifty men at his back, galloping at 
topmost speed and shouting the alarm, some 
striking flint and steel to light the torches. 

Attila, though heavy with sleep, was out of 
his tent in an instant, sword in hand. 

‘Tt is Goderedd, King Attila!” shouted the 
Goth. ‘^Badun Khan attacks! Here are spare 
horses for Ehekan and your son. I fulfill my 
oath! ’ ’ 

Lightning-swift was Attila. He understood 
all, instantly. He dashed into the tent, lifted 
Bhekan in one arm, snatched the baby from the 
rug on which it was lying and tossed it into 
Goderedd ^s arms, while he fairly threw the 
woman on a horse. One spring, and he was in 
the saddle himself. 

As the first torch blazed, down upon the royal 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 141 

tent charged Badun Khan—^with how many men 
behind him, there was no saying. 

^‘Eide!’’ thundered Attila to Goderedd, and 
turned to face the Mongols, all alone. ^‘Ha! 
Badun Khan I You are welcome. Attila! At¬ 
tila!’’ 

The war-cry rang out in the chief’s own harsh 
and terrible tone. 

Badun Khan, stricken cold by the apparition 
of his dreaded enemy seen for an instant in the 
torch’s gleam, involuntarily checked his horse, 
then, terrified, wheeled and sped into the night. 
He dared not face the sword which he knew 
must be awaiting him. 

Grimly Attila watched him disappear, then 
turned and followed Goderedd to the outskirts 
of the camp. 

^‘Rorik may be hard pushed. King Attila,” 
said Goderedd as his chief joined him, and, in 
a few words, explained how he had planned the 
charge. 

Attila said only, ^‘How hungry must Badun 
Khan be for death!” 

He made no comment on the fate of Rorik, 
but rode round the camp to take the Mongols in 
the rear. 


142 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Goderedd fell back beside Ehekan. 

‘^Give me the boy!’’ said she. 

‘^Eoyal Ehekan,” Goderedd replied, ‘T ask 
your grace, but, on the field of battle, my right 
to Ellak is greater than your own. Long years 
ago it was decided.” 

The first grayness of dawn was coming into 
the sky. The woman, stern-visaged, sallow, un¬ 
comely, with lank hair unbound, but strong of 
feature and intelligent, came close to the boy 
and stared at him keenly. 

have heard the tale. So you are Goderedd. 
A Goth! Give me the boy!” 

^‘No!” 

^Tf Attila command?” 

‘‘Not even then, until the danger be past.” 

The wife of Attila pushed back her streaming 
hair and stared at him in the slowly increasing 
light. 

“He is my son,” said she, and turned in her 
saddle to summon Attila. 

“Do not call!” warned Goderedd. “King At¬ 
tila will endorse my oath.” 

The woman clutched the young Goth’s arm 
and fixed him with her gaze. He returned glance 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 143 

for glance. Uncouth she was, slant-eyed and 
swarthy, looking at her worst in all the disarray 
of recent sleep, but there was the fire of power 
in her eyes and an untamed dignity in her ges¬ 
ture. Something of the sorceress she had in her, 
something of the gift of reading character. 

“Keep the child,’’ she said, at last. “I am 
content. ’ ’ 

Soon, very soon, dawn crept up the sky, and 
the gray light showed, as a blotch, the hundred 
lances riding toward them under Atagis. They 
had scarcely reached Attila when the rest of 
Goderedd’s troop, under Eorik, came plunging 
up the slope out of the fast-fading darkness, 
hotly pursued by Badun Khan and nearly two 
thousand Mongols. Badun Khan’s men reined 
up in confusion at the sight of Attila. 

The Roman ranks had been seriously thinned 
in the hot encounter, but, at the sight of God- 
eredd, -the troopers galloped forward, wheeled 
behind him without a word of command, and 
formed in line of battle. 

Attila ran his eye down the line once. His 
curious magnetic power stirred every man, as 
with a draught of heady wine. 


144 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘Tt was well done. I say it. Attila! More 
blood, good hounds; more blood! On! Crush 
them! ^ ’ ^ 

Goderedd stared, his sword in hand, the baby 
on his bridle arm. Badun Khan had two thou¬ 
sand lances to their four hundred, and the Mon¬ 
gol camp, with two thousand horsemen more, 
was but a few miles away. 

‘‘Does Ellak join the charge. King Attila?” 
he queried. “I do not leave him. It is my oath!” 

The Hun’s yellow teeth showed between the 
thin hairs on lip and chin. He laughed discord¬ 
antly—it was more a croak than a laugh. 

“Charge, Goderedd! Let my firstborn smell 
his first blood from a horse’s back!” 

He turned. 

“Who follows Attila? WTio rides where Doom 
rides? Who rides with Attila?” 

Hot with fighting, delirious with battle frenzy, 
lifted to blood-eagerness by the spell of the 
Hun’s wizardry of leadership, the soldiers 
yelled in fury, 

“Attila! Attila! Lead us, Attila!” 

The dread chieftain, with neither shield nor 
armor, dressed just as he had risen from sleep, 
said not another word but loosed the reins of 


A NIGHT OF TREACHERY 145 

his horse. The squadrons of the empire fol¬ 
lowed him with as much wildness as though 
they had been the maddest of his own picked 
band. 

Badun Khan could be seen trying to bring his 
men to order from their sudden halt, but the 
terrible cry went on before: 

‘^Attila!’’ 

Panic, soul-searing panic, the black demon of 
deadly fear, rolled upon that Mongol host like 
a vapor-blast of certain doom. Courage was 
sucked from them, their nerves grew limp. 

Not knowing rightly why, acting as though in 
the grip of nightmare, the Mongols turned their 
horses and fled, striking each other down in the 
terror of unreasoned flight. Though two thou¬ 
sand to four hundred, they scattered in utter 
rout, Badun Khan among them. 

Never checking his gallop, Attila snatched the 
baby from Goderedd, holding Ellak aloft in his 
left hand as though the child were a banner, his 
sword flashing in his right. 

Down into the fleeing host he charged, and 
struck one man so that his skull was cloven in 
twain. Another and another and yet a fourth 
fell before that blade. Then, drawing rein, he 


146 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

flung up his hand to call a halt. The Eoman 
troopers, accustomed only to the trumpet-call, 
did not see the gesture; they were thick in the 
fighting. Goderedd’s trumpeter sounded the 
halt. 

On the instant, the well-disciplined troop 
halted, wheeled, and, at a word of command 
from Goderedd, snapped sharply into squad¬ 
ron column formation. 

Attila grunted approval, and handed the child 
hack to Goderedd. 

‘^Enough for now. Drive a rat to a corner 
and it will turn and bite,’’ said he. ‘‘But, before 
the summer sun turns the grass brown, there 
shall not be a Mongol rat alive this side of the 
Mother Mountains. Who worries the rats with 
Attila 

Wild yells responded; shield clashed on 
shield. The four hundred men would have faced 
ten thousand at that moment, and ridden into 
certain death with mad abandon, though they 
had never seen Attila before that day. 

Such was the man! 


CHAPTER VII 


THE FLAMING SWOKD 

They cantered back, slowly, to where Rhekan 
was waiting, and Goderedd gave her back the 
child. 

‘ ^ There is no danger, now, ’ ’ he said simply. 

Aetius, who had been hidden behind the flap 
of Attila’s tent with drawn sword ready to 
transfix Badun Khan should the Mongol chief 
reach there before Goderedd, and who had not 
found a horse in time to join the charge, had 
ridden up to cover Rhekan’s defense and was 
sitting beside her, grimly, with naked blade. 

At Goderedd’s words, he smiled. He knew the 
story of the prophecy, and guessed much of 
what had happened. 

Attila exchanged a few words with Rhekan, 
in a low voice, then turned to Goderedd. 

^‘How came you here by night? How knew 
you that the Mongols would attack? Speak 
straight, and speak swiftly!’’ 

147 ! 


148 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

^‘King Attila has forgotten Goderedd, or he 
would not say ^Speak straight!’ ” the young 
Goth replied with dignity. ‘‘It was Aetius who 
sent the warning, and Eorik who bore it.” 

“Speak, Eorik!” 

The Hun desired nothing better than an op¬ 
portunity to show what he had done for his king 
and his brother-in-law, and he shot a grateful 
glance at Goderedd for giving him the chance to 
tell the tale. He explained Badun’s plot in all 
its details, and told how Aetius had refused the 
command of the army oifered him by the Mon¬ 
gol khan, though seeming to accept it. 

“By the Gods of Night, Aetius, the doing of 
a man! A thousand spears are yours, Aetius, 
and freedom.” 

The Eoman was about to reply, when Attila 
checked him with a gesture. 

“The word is said, and never does Attila 
swallow a once-spoken word. But if I ride to 
plunder Eome, Aetius, as one day I shall do— 
what then?” 

“If I am free, King Attila,” said the Eoman, 
sturdily, “I will face you in battle, as, all these 
years, as a hostage, I have faced you in friend¬ 
ship.” 


THE FLAMING SWORD 149 

* ^ For that word, you shall have two thousand 
spears. Aetius, you are free, to ride when and 
where you will.’’ 

“A further boon, King Attila!” 

‘^Speak!” 

“Before I ride to Rome, my sword must find 
out Badun Khan. He dishonored me with his 
offer.” 

“I give the boon. You shall have a command 
in the campaign. Rorik, Attila does not forget. 
Goderedd, for thanks, you—” 

The young Goth dared to interrupt. 

“King, it is my oath.” 

“A good word; I shall remember it. Rorik, 
ride to the camp; bring what is needed. I camp 
at midday. Send a swift messenger to Mirk- 
hond. Goderedd, ride beside me; what of Hono- 
rius?” 

So, as they rode on slowly;—^keeping far-flung 
outposts in case Badun Khan should summon 
courage for a second attack—Goderedd gave a 
rough sketch of his stay in Atawulf’s court, of 
his friendship with Placidia, and how it came 
about that the two Emperors had given him a 
troop of five hundred spears. 

Before noon, the baggage train overtook 


150 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

them, and the King’s tent was pitched. The 
site seemed taken at hazard, but Goderedd noted 
that the place was really shielded by the steep 
banks of an insignificant stream. A trifle, only, 
but enough to show the Goth that Attila had 
become so sure a strategist that even a noonday 
halt was picked with an eye to defense. 

Neither then, nor that night, was there any 
alarm. Though, counting the warriors in his 
camp, Badun Khan could rally four thousand 
men, he dared not fall upon four hundred, if 
Attila were leading them. 

Next morning the little party rode on east¬ 
ward, and, shortly before noon, descried the 
advance guard of the army, riding swiftly, pen¬ 
nons fluttering at every lance. Mirkhond rode 
beside the general, at the head. 

The army of wild horsemen swept onward, 
with piercing yells and shouts of: 

‘‘Attila! Our Attila!” 

They wheeled about the royal party like a 
cloud in the grip of a whirlwind, then gathered 
into roughly ordered companies. There was no 
such precision of training as in the Koman 
army, but there was a savage discipline which 


THE FLAMING SWORD 151 

was but little less effective. Goderedd noted it 
with satisfaction. 

Mirkhond, though old and growing feeble, 
still sat his horse well. He rode direct to Attila. 

‘‘Hail, King, in safety. Never a Mongol blade 
shall make a scratch on Attila. It is written!^’ 

“How long does Badun Khan liveT’ queried 
Attila, abruptly. 

“Not long. But where a crow falls, a raven 
rises.’’ 

The Hun frowned. Prophecy was only proph¬ 
ecy, but the mage’s predictions rarely failed. 

“You have words waiting in your throat, 
Mirkhond. Speak!” 

‘ ‘ This, King Attila. Hordes of Mongols have 
crossed the Mother Mountains. Why, now may 
be seen. They wait the word of your death. ’ ’ 

“That will be a long waiting,” said Attila. 

“Not so. The word is on its way.” 

“By the Gods of Night! Who sent it?” 

“I, King Attila.” 

“You have sent messengers?” 

“Yesterday.” 

Goderedd smiled appreciation. He saw the 
plan at once. The Mongols were to fall into their 


152 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

own trap. Mirkhond, being two days’ march to 
the east, had lured the Mongols on with false 
tidings of Attila’s death. These messengers 
would reach the hordes before any courier from 
Badun Khan, and, naturally, Mirkhond had sent 
a flying column of scouts to intercept and slay 
any such courier. The Mongols, then, in full as¬ 
surance of success, and supposing the dread con¬ 
queror to be dead, were sweeping down into the 
steppe-lands, almost into the jaws of Attila. 

^‘The Mongols be many?” 

‘‘As stars in wdnter. And Bleda waits behind, 
as Eorik has told you.” 

“The moon shall shine red from looking upon 
blood,” quoth Attila, grimly. 

That he might fail never occurred to Attila, 
but Goderedd, accustomed to the ever-changing 
fortunes of the Visigothic kingdom, felt the 
Hun position to be serious. The Mongols would 
number a quarter of a million fighting men, at 
least. 

Attila’s conquests in Media and in Persia 
had enormously extended his power eastward, 
but the campaign had been costly in men. Be¬ 
sides, he had been forced to leave several strong 
garrisons to hold the territory. The returning 


THE FLAMING SWORD 153 

army did not number more than sixty thousand 
horsemen, all told. This would have been of lit¬ 
tle importance were it not for treachery, but 
with Bleda in secret opposition, backed by the 

t 

Mongol host, the great conqueror had no troops 
on which he could depend, save his little army of 
sixty thousand men. 

The Mongols were to the north of him, Bleda 
to the west, the Black Sea, Caucasus Moun¬ 
tains, and Caspian Sea to the south, and his 
east could easily be cut by a Mongol drive south¬ 
ward over the Kirghiz steppes. Ruas might sup¬ 
port him, but it would be difficult to get a mes¬ 
senger safely across the entire width of Bleda’s 
territory. Goderedd had been allowed to pass, 
because Bleda wished to catch him in the same 
trap. 

Attila could not grasp a political situation 
as quickly as Mirkhond or Goderedd, but no 
other man living could seize a military ques¬ 
tion with such decision and certainty. He turned 
to the general who was beside Mirkhond. 

‘‘Take the Blue warriors, Gulus—’’ the Hun 
army was divided into corps distinguish by the 
pennons on their lances, “occupy and hold the 
hills of Bityug. Let neither sun nor stars see a 


154 IN the time of ATTILA 

momeiit’s idleness. I follow. The camp must be 
impregnable. Make earthworks as I did at 
Rhagae. Command both rivers.’’ 

ride, King Attila!” was the general’s sole 
response. 

Five minutes later, so thorough was the or¬ 
ganization of the Huns, despite their seeming 
wildness, ten thousand horsemen set out across 
the steppe to the northeast. The campaign 
against the Mongols was begun. 

To follow all the incidents of that campaign, 
which lasted twelve long years, would be a 
mere repetition of incessant skirmishes and 
battles, serious enough, but without influence 
on the fate of Europe. 

Badun Khan held Attila at bay for nearly a 
year, then fell by the sword of Aetius, who, 
thus released from his oath, accepted the free¬ 
dom he had been promised and a small body¬ 
guard, but declined the two thousand lances, 
since the Huns had need of every man. He 
parted from Attila the best of friends, and the 
conqueror’s last words to him were: 

‘ ^ Let us next meet in battle! ’ ’ 

A few words suffice to tell of Aetius’ doings 


THE FLAMING SWORD 155 

in the next few years. He arrived at Ravenna 
to find Constantins dead and Honorius on his 
death-bed. Placidia had borne a son to Con¬ 
stantins, and, on the death of Honorins, the 
infant was crowned as Emperor Valentinian 
III. Thns had Mirkhond^s prophecy come fnlly 
trne, Placidia was the mother of an emperor. 
The empress-mother took the reins of power, 
and Aetins—warmly commended to Placidia by 
Goderedd—^was given the command of all the 
armies in Ganl. He saved the Roman city of 
Arles, then besieged by Theodoric the Visigoth, 
and took Theodoric ^s chief general captive. 
Both Aetins and Theodoric were to enter At- 
tila’s life, later. 

The death of Badnn Khan in no way weak¬ 
ened the Mongols. As Mirkhond had said: 
“Where a crow falls, a raven rises.’’ In the 
khan’s place came Lakla Khan, the Grand 
Khan of the Mongols, who had at his back the 
terrible monntaineers from the regions now 
known as Afghanistan and Belnchistan. The 
Mongols connted three-qnarters of a million 
people, of whom half a million were warriors. 
Theirs was more trnly a migration than that of 


156 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

the Huns, for they advanced slowly, taking and 
holding the country as they came. Attila the 
Hun, the enemy of Europe, unwittingly was 
Europe ^s best defender against the Mongols. 

Mirkhond’s prophecy concerning Attila also 
had come true. Two more sons were born to 
him, Gungis and Vhernak. By reason of his 
oath, Goderedd remained always at the camp 
on the Bityug, having the title of General and 
chief command of the encampment. With his 
knowledge of Roman warfare, he made the 
camp impregnable. The formidable earthworks 
built under his direction are visible to this day. 

Yet, valiantly as Attila might fight, superb 
as was his leadership, no force could resist the 
slowly advancing Mongols. Year by year they 
grew nearer; year by year, the camp was more 
seriously menaced. It seemed but a matter of 
time until the Huns, under Attila, would be 
swamped or driven back upon the hostile coun¬ 
try of Bleda. 

King Ruas would do nothing to help. He had 
his own plans of conquest. Every year he sent 
raiding armies into the Eastern Empire. No 
less than three times had he halted under the 
walls of Constantinople, being bribed to retire, 


THE FLAMING SWORD 157 

each time, by fabulous payments of gold from 
the weakling Emperor. 

Soon it became evident that the great camp 
on the Bityug was in utter danger. The Huns 
must make their last stand. Lakla Khan was 
approaching in person. The defenses con¬ 
structed by Goderedd on the Khoper and Vo¬ 
ronezh River rendered it hopeless for Lakla 
Khan to attack, either from the east or west. 
The only road of access for a hostile army was 
by Penza and Tambov. 

The Huns dared not allow the Mongols to 
reach the plains of South Tambov, the pasture- 
land of the hundreds of thousands of horses of 
Attila’s host; the crucial battle must be fought 
to the northward. There, the undulating plain 
of Tambov is crossed by deep ravines and broad 
valleys with ridges of stony outcrop, highly 
obstructive to an advancing army. In such a 
broken country, generalship, rather than num¬ 
bers, might decide the fortunes of war. Attila 
had picked his ground with strategical mas¬ 
tery. 

It is incorrect to describe the Battle of Tam¬ 
bov as a single engagement. The fighting lasted 
for almost a month, continuously, the Mon- 


158 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

gols being caught in one trap after another and 
cut to pieces by guerrilla tactics, with very little 
loss to Attila. 

The ground was difficult for mass attack, easy 
for defense. A hundred archers, protected by a 
temporary earthwork, could decimate a large 
force crossing an unbridged ravine, and then 
escape without harm. The Mongols dared not 
pursue, for fear of ambush. Even so, they found 
themselves ambushed four times in that month, 
and each ambush cost them nearly ten thou¬ 
sand men. Sixty or seventy thousand Mongols 
fell during this advance, before there was a 
single pitched battle. 

Yet Lakla Khan pushed onward steadily, and, 
at last, entered the flatter grass-lands of the 
south, his forces diminished in numbers and 
in fighting spirit, but a formidable army still. 
The summer was intolerably hot, and the horses 
of the Mongols were over-ridden, thin, and ill- 
fed. The Huns, with the vast and well-watered 
prairies of Tambov behind them, had fresh 
mounts for every man. In cavalry warfare, the 
horse is almost as important as the man. 

Said Mirkhond, at last: 

The day of battle comes. King Attila! Await 


THE FLAMING SWORD 159 

a night of storm. Three days have dust-clonds 
shown the hot simoom; winds from the north 
will come to drive them back. ’ ’ 

The Him broke out in furious expostulation 
at this delay. He wished to charge immediately, 
and it irked him to wait. He was in a savage 
humor, and, more than once that month had 
threatened to behead the Persian. Mirkhond, 
day by day, persisted in prophesying victory, 
yet, day by day, the Mongols advanced. But 
Attila did not dare to give the death order. He 
feared Mirkhond, still, and rarely went against 
the Persian's advice, however much it galled 
him. 

Harassed by light attacks, Lakla Khan drew 
nearer to the great Hun camp, slowly and 
warily, for he feared a trap. 

Two days later, at daybreak, a glance at the 
sky told Mirkhond that the time set by the 
Fates had come. He went straightway to the 
king’s tent. 

‘^The battle is for to-night!” he proclaimed 
simply. 

Attila made no response, asked no question. 
The rest was his affair. Only to Rorik, Gulus, 
Goderedd, and a few other trusted generals did 


i6o IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


he hint his plans. The troops were bidden rest. 
Camp-followers brought to the camp the vast 
bands of remounts which were held in readi¬ 
ness. Minor commanders examined every man’s 
horse and each man’s arms. The Huns knew 
well that, on that night’s doings, their lives de¬ 
pended. The Mongols would give no quarter. 

Towards late afternoon, the sky grew cov¬ 
ered with a faint orange haze, the atmosphere 
was heavy, the air deathly still, the heat ter¬ 
rific. Here and there, dust-whirls danced. The 
dry grass stood stark upright, like the bristles 
on an angry cat, sure evidence of a terrestrial 
overcharge of electricity and of a coming 
storm. 

‘‘At the first roll of thunder, ride!” said 
Mirkhond. 

The word was passed to all the army, and the 
Huns rejoiced. Nature-worshipers and heathen, 
most of them, the belief that the Gods of Storm 
would do battle for them against the Mongols 
was a soul-stirring encouragement. Thus be¬ 
lieving,—as Mirkhond had foreseen—the worse 
the night the better would the Huns fight, for 
an assurance of victory is worth more to an 
army than half a dozen extra battalions. 


THE FLAMING SWORD i6i 


The weather grew more and more lowering. 
The sun went down blood-red, ruddy streaming 
plumes of cloud preceding the black line of 
storm which rose on the northwestern hori¬ 
zon to meet the sinking sun. 

It was not until nearly night that the first 
roll of thunder i^ame, a sudden and portentous 
crash, which rumbled in the heavens for fully 
two minutes afterwards. Every man in the Hun 
army sprang to horse, for, though, in his cam¬ 
paign in Media and Persia, Attila had learned 
how to handle infantry, and had a legion of 
foot-soldiers in his army, the Huns were at 
their best on horseback. 

Goderedd took charge of one of the regi¬ 
ments, composed mainly of Ostrogoths, armed 
as heavy cavalry on heavy horses, and trained 
by the young Goth according to the Roman 
fashion. These troops—eight squadrons of five 
hundred men apiece—had neither the speed nor 
the mobility of the Huns, but their fighting 
power was deadlier and their superior weight 
gave a terrible impetus to a charge; they were 
trained to serve as infantry, also. To put the 
matter in modern terms, the Huns were hus¬ 
sars, while Goderedd’s cavalry acted as heavy 


i62 in THE TIME OF ATTILA 

dragoons, able to fight afoot or on horseback. 

The legion of infantry, mostly of Goth or 
mixed blood, held the outermost defenses of the 
camp, ready to check the enemy should the cav¬ 
alry encounter turn unfavorable to the Huns. 

A moment or two after that roll of thunder, 
the Hun army was on the march. The odds 
against them were about four to one, fifty thou¬ 
sand men against two hundred thousand. This 
was partly equalized by the fact that the Huns 
were fighting on ground of which they knew 
every inch—a matter of the highest importance 
to cavalry on a dark night—they had the ad¬ 
vantage of choosing their own moment for the 
attack, and their horses were fresh. To cap all, 
they had for their leader the greatest cavalry 
strategist of ancient times—Attila. 

Several hundred men, all lightweights (a 
few pounds of extra weight makes an enor¬ 
mous difference to a light-built horse^s speed), 
lightly armed, and mounted on the swiftest 
horses of the army, were sent forward with 
trumpeters and unlighted torches far to the 
south of Lakla Khan’s forces. Arriving on posi¬ 
tion, they were to light their torches, sound 
the advance, and charge upon the left wing of 


THE FLAMING SWORD 163 

the Mongols, but, after the first shock, they 
were to turn and flee as though routed. 

Lightly armed, knowing the ground, and on 
swift horses, they could escape pursuit, and 
one wing of the Mongol army might thus be 
tempted to wheel to face them, lest this should 
be a feint prior to the main attack. The same 
tactics were employed on the other wing. 
Whether the decoy succeeded or not, in any 
case it would spread the Mongol line and thus 
weaken it. 

The decisive moment came. Far to the south, 
sparks of light showed the decoy troops com¬ 
ing to the charge. 

Attila waited five minutes longer, and then 
the word to advance at a full gallop ran along 
the line, fully ten miles long. At exactly the 
same minute, the whole line of the Huns thun¬ 
dered down upon the Mongols, yelling like 
savages. 

From both sides a cloud of arrows flew, fol¬ 
lowed by a shower of darts, giving just time to 
set lance in rest. 

The night was pitch-dark, heavy thunder¬ 
clouds blotting out moon and stars, and not un¬ 
til the armies were within a few spears’ length 


i64 in the time OF ATTILA 

could they see each other, though each knew 
the enemy’s approach by the deafening tumult 
of the mutual charge. 

Lakla Khan, though not such a strategist as 
Attila, was not to be caught by such a simple 
ruse as the feint attack upon the wings of the 
army, and his men were ready to resist the 
charge. The Mongols spurred forward also, and 
the two armies crashed with a shock that shook 
the steppe. Men slain by the first flights of ar¬ 
rows and darts had no time to fall from their 
horses before the armies met. 

No man on either side could see, in that 
darkness, to use a shield or to direct a lance. 
Men stabbed, thrust, or slashed, indiscrimi¬ 
nately. Only by the position of a horse’s head 
could Mongol or Hun determine friend from 
foe. 

Then, the first terrific contact established, by 
prearrangement the Huns in the center wheeled 
to right and left, doubling behind the second 
line of fresh troops, and into the wide gap, thus 
formed, came charging Goderedd and the heavy 
cavalry. 

They crashed through the Mongol line with 
appalling slaughter, but almost without resist- 


THE FLAMING SWORD 165 

ance, for, so equally balanced had been the re¬ 
sult of the first onset, so shaken was the 
Mongol line, that it was powerless against the 
second hammer blow delivered by heavier and 
better-armed fighters. The reserve line of the 
Mongols kept its formation for a moment, but, 
not being in motion, suffered terribly from the 
crashing impetus of Goderedd’s charge. 

The heavy cavalry broke through. The Huns, 
riding in a double-ranked wedge, poured into 
the gap. They followed their orders, blindly, 
for, in that darkness, no one could see what was 
transpiring. Attila’s genius had foreseen all. 
The Mongol army was cut in two. 

Such tactics, admirable in themselves when 
successful, possess a very serious danger^— 
they leave a thin line of troops nipped between 
two hostile armies, and, therefore, open to at¬ 
tack both in front and rear. By daylight, the 
Mongols would have seen this instantly, and 
the heavy cavalry might have been annihilated, 
but Attila had planned the charge exactly for 
the conditions of that night. The Huns knew 
what had happened because they knew what 
was supposed to happen; the Mongols were at 
a loss. 


i66 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


Goderedd’s men dismounted instantly and 
formed two compact quadruple lines, facing in 
either direction, ready for the return shock, 
which was not long in coming. Lakla Khan, for 
all the darkness, had grasped the Hun ma¬ 
neuver and knew the crushing reply. 

But he had not counted on meeting infantry, 
when the charge of a moment before had been 
a cavalry charge. Experience has shown that a 
cavalry charge is useless against infantry, if 
the infantry be well posted and prepared. 
Moreover, at night, the moral effect of a cavalry 
charge is lost. 

The short broad-bladed spears of Goderedd’s 
men were long enough to take every oncoming 
horse in the chest, and to bring horse and rider 
to the ground. Those of the Mongols, who did 
charge or leap their horses into the ranks of 
the infantry, were hampered rather than helped 
by their long lances, and the Goths cut them 
down without mercy. 

The melee was at its height when the storm 
burst with unparalleled fury, and the Mon¬ 
gols saw, in the rapid flashes of the lightning, 
the Hun army coming in another rush. The 
Mongols had no time to set their horses in mo- 


THE FLAMING SWORD 167 

tion, and Attila struck for the third time with 
all the smashing effect of momentum. The Huns 
bored deep into the ranks of the enemy, hewing 
at flesh like fiends. 

‘^Attila!’’ 

Then the heavens opened and belched forth 
fire. The long-brooding tempest raged in ele¬ 
mental frenzy. The thunder rolled incessantly, 
and with so continuous a roar that all the 
sounds of the battle were drowned and men 
seemed to be fighting in utter silence. Neither 
war-cry nor death-cry could be heard, and the 
violet glare rendered the pandemonium a 
soundless nightmare. 

Flash succeeded flash, thunderbolts crashed 
to earth with a stunning shock, globes of ball¬ 
lightning fell from the skies and ran about the 
ground under the horses’ hoofs, exploding sud¬ 
denly and adding to the terror and confusion. 

Then—so say old records—a column of light¬ 
ning formed between the earth and sky, pro¬ 
duced by the continuous discharge of negative 
and positive potential, a veritable pillar of fire, 
lighting the vast arena of blood and strife with 
a brilliance as sharp as the light of day and 
twenty times more violent. Under that light. 


i68 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


blood ran black, and added to the horror of the 
sight. 

The Mongols—to their credit be it said— 
stood their ground valiantly. In a delirium of 
savagery, equal to that of their foes, they 
fought like demons. Despite the violent charges, 
the Huns had not dislodged them. Lakla Khan 
had not given back a step. 

No longer was the battle that of army against 
army, but man to man, and here, numbers told. 
Save where Goderedd’s men were holding their 
own, all lines had broken, and the slaughter was 
individual. 

Everywhere was confusion and disorder, 
coils and clumps of struggling men, heaps of 
dead and dying—horses and men intermingled, 
the swirls and eddies of a sea of struggle 
whipped by the winds of death. Only, in the 
neighborhood of that pillar of fire, all men had 
shrunk away, and there was clear ground for 
a hundred yards on every side. 

“Attila!^’ 

Bursting through the encircling Mongols, 
Attila thundered forward, crossed the clear 
stretch, and plunged—or so it seemed to the as- 


THE FLAMING SWORD 169 

tounded armies—into the very core of that 
shaft of dazzling light. 

A cry of horror uprose from the Huns, so 
universal, so piercing that it rose above the 
shaking rumble of the thunder. 

A second—it seemed to the Huns an hour— 
passed before Attila emerged from that Pillar 
of Fire, holding in his hand a sword that seemed 
alive, gleaming like the lightning itself. It 
flashed like a living flame, making circles of 
fire in the air as he whirled it, and seemed to 
send tongues of violet incandescence from edge 
and point. 

Shaking the fiery blade above his head, he 
flung himself, single-handed, into the thickest 
of the fray. 

Before him, the Mongols screamed and fled. 
A few let fall their weapons and waited for 
death, paralyzed with fear. Attila cut a swath 
through the serried mass, scarcely checking his 
horse ^s speed, leaving a line of writhing men 
or corpses in his wake. 

‘‘Attila!^’ 

Lakla Khan, some twenty men around him, 
stood his ground and, towards him, Attila 


170 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

charged, the Huns from every side hewing 
their way towards him. 

He gestured them to halt—every movement 
could be clearly seen in the unnatural glare 
of that column of violet light—and, alone, he 
rode against Lakla Khan and his twenty. 

A thunderbolt crashed to earth a few yards 
from the Mongol khan. He sat superbly still. 

A moment later, Attila, still alone, his sword 
a shaft of lambent flame, swept on the twenty 
men. Of that single-handed fray, nothing could 
be seen but falling men and rearing horses, and 
the Sword, like a tongue of demoniacal flire, 
darting here and there. 

Then Attila reined back. 

Alone, upon a little mound, sat Lakla Khan, 
his twenty men dead at his feet. 

The thunder rolled unceasingly; the shaft of 
lightning made a path from black sky to the 
blood-blackened earth below. 

Then, from the mound, slowly rode down 
Lakla Khan. For the first time he drew his 
sword. 

A shock ran over the field. Men halted, with 
sword poised in air, or javelin in the act of 
thrusting through an enemy’s chest. Breath- 


THE FLAMING SWORD 171 

less, both sides stood, as though stricken mo¬ 
tionless by sorcery, to see that fight. 

Attila reined back his horse, back and back, 
to give the Mongol khan a fair chance for a 
rush. Then, at the same instant, both warriors 
charged. 

There was a flash of fire, and a flash of steel! 

Attila swept beyond and turned, the Khan 
likewise. There was no maneuver of horseman¬ 
ship. Both men dashed in, and, for some min¬ 
utes, the sword-blows fell so fast that none 
could follow them. 

Then Attila reined back again, the Sword 
held high above him, motionless, but glowing 
like a blazing meteor. 

Lakla^Khan faced him, for a lon^ long min¬ 
ute, then slowly bent over his saddle-bow, hud¬ 
dled, and fell forward on his horse’s neck, 
dead. 

Attila spurred forward, put his arm around 
the khan, and kept his foe from falling. 

‘‘Attila!” 

A thunder-peal, louder than all, shook earth 
and sky, and seemed to the Huns the acclaim of 
the Storm-Gods for their victory. 

Goderedd waved his men to their horses— 


172 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

no word of command or trumpet-call could be 
beard in that wild tumult of the elements—and, 
at every point, the battle began anew, if battle 
it could be called which had turned in one swift 
moment to massacre. 

Leaderless, panic-stricken, convinced that the 
very Spirits of the Air were fighting for the 
Huns, the Mongols scarcely sought to defend 
themselves. Few fled. With Asiatic fatalism 
they felt that their end was come, and faced 
death stolidly, fighting in sullen despair. 

The carnage lasted the whole night through, 
and when, at dawn, Goderedd rode back with 
the remnant of his regiment, he found Attila in 
the same place, holding the dead Lakla Khan 
upon his horse. 

‘‘Dig him a grave deep enough for horse and 
man,’’ said Attila, “that he may ride therein 
as a dead king should ride. As he died in honor, 
so shall he go to his ancestors in honor. None 
shall carry his body, none but I shall touch his 
body, nor shall his foot be put upon the soil. Let 
him ride to his own place in the World of the 
Dead! The Storm-Gods will have it so! ” 

To-day, halfway between Tambov and Li¬ 
petsk, may still be seen the tumulus wherein 


THE FLAMING SWORD 173 

remain, upright, the bones of Lakla Khan, still 
seated on his horse, and, on the top of the great 
mound, lies a flat stone in which is roughly 
chipped the outline of the Flaming Sword. 


CHAPTER VIII 


DARING THE DYING 

The succeeding years passed swiftly for 
Goderedd, in the camp of the Huns. Ellak had 
been twelve years old at the Battle of Tambov, 
Gungis, a year younger, and Vhernak, nine 
years old. During the three years following, El¬ 
lak became Goderedd’s shadow and rarely left 
his side, although, indeed, all three boys were 
in his constant company. 

Very different were the characters of the 
three. Ellak, now nearly sixteen years of age, 
rash, daring, and quarrelsome, had all the im¬ 
petuosity of his father and was a born fighter, 
the best javelin-caster in the camp and of in¬ 
credible endurance on the chase, but Goderedd 
could see that the boy would never have his 
father’s sense of leadership nor his power. 
Gungis, the second oldest, had the Hun’s cun¬ 
ning and shrewdness; he listened eagerly to all 
Goderedd’s instructions in statecraft, but it was 
impossible to put into his mind any sense of 

174 


DARING THE DYING 175 

honor or the value of an oath. Vhernak, the 
youngest, was the finest character of the three, 
and had inherited from his father the magne¬ 
tism which makes a leader of men; he was im¬ 
mensely popular and fhe favorite of the whole 
army. 

Goderedd had long foreseen the difficulties 
which would arise when these three hoys should 
grow to manhood, for there would certainly he 
an intense rivalry between them, and each 
'would strive to supplant his brothers in his 
own special way. 

Between Attila and Bleda, so far, there had 
been no open clash. The defeat of Lakla Khan 
had given Attila an enormous prestige, but 
the millions of Asia were unconquered and the 
menace of a Mongol invasion was an ever- 
constant one. Attila was forced to lead inces¬ 
sant raids across the Urals and into Turkestan. 
Persia and Media had been subjugated, but 
they were only held in hand by the maintenance 
of a Reign of Terror. This gave Attila a rest¬ 
less and loosely held empire, stretching from 
the borders of Mongolia to the Black Sea, but 
it was a rulership of fear, only to be maintained 
by constant fighting. 


176 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Bang Ruas had become old and feeble, and all 
the western part of the Kingdom of the Huns 
was practically in the slippery hands of Bleda. 
As the Huns possessed no sense of developing 
a territory or establishing a stable form of gov¬ 
ernment, as they would pay no heed to agri¬ 
culture or to pastoral life, and as their sole 
idea of rulership was that of theft and pillage, 
this enormous and unwieldy Hun kingdom re¬ 
mained in a state of savagery. The money 
needed to support the armies was secured by 
raids and slave-captures, by the sacking of 
towns and cities, and by constant threats upon 
Constantinople for the purpose of extorting 
enormous sums of tribute from the incapable 
emperor, Theodosius II. 

In the Western Empire, during this time, 
events moved smoothly under the wise ad¬ 
ministration of Gallia Placidia, who reigned as 
Empress-Mother during the minority of her 
son, Valentinian III; her policy was ably sec¬ 
onded by Aetius, now in command of all the 
armies of the Empire. The Vandals, who had 
been driven into Africa by Atawulf, were 
swiftly becoming masters of all the African 
provinces under their famous king Genseric or 


DARING THE DYING 


177 

Gaiseric, who was to play an astounding and 
savage part in the history of the next half- 
century. 

Attila^s camp had been moved from the Bit- 
yug to a point on the Volga River sixty miles 
south of the present city of Kazan, and which, 
many centuries after, became the capital of the 
migrating Bulgarian hordes. Here, Attila was 
far enough away from the frontiers of Bleda’s 
territory to insure him against surprise, and 
he was admirably placed to control all Eastern 
Russia, Persia, and Turkestan. 

The life in Attila’s camp had now attained 
a high scale of barbaric luxury, but Attila him¬ 
self, Rhekan, and their three sons, maintained 
a simple mode of living. The great Hun con¬ 
queror held a savage contempt for the weaken¬ 
ing effect of luxury, and insisted that Goderedd 
should keep the boys in constant activity. 
Youngsters as they were, they had ridden with 
Attila to the very boundaries of his empire, 
Goderedd always beside them. 

Then, one day, a messenger came riding at* 
topmost speed with a message from King Ruas. 
The old* king was now so feeble and so ill that 
his life could not be a matter of more than a 


178 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

few weeks. Bleda was already at the king’s bed¬ 
side, said the messenger, and there was not a 
doubt that he intended to have himself pro¬ 
claimed king, thus forcing Attila either to pay 
him homage or to be declared a rebel. 

Leaving Rorik with the main armies to hold 
the western conquests, Attila set out at once 
with a picked body of twenty thousand men, 
under the combined generalship of Gulus and 
Goderedd. He took with him Ehekan and their 
three sons, for Mirkhond declared that the pres¬ 
ence of the boys at King Ruas’ camp was es¬ 
sential. He even went so far as to hint that one 
of them might be the means of saving Attila’s 
life, though the mage either could not or would 
not say how this was to happen. 

They rode through Bleda’s kingdom as 
through a hostile country, but the army of 
twenty thousand had swollen to thirty thou¬ 
sand and more before they reached the capital 
of the Huns. Something of this was due to the 
fame of Attila—though Bleda had done his best 
to stifle all reports of his brother’s conquests 
—but even more was due to the fame of the 
Flaming Sword. To the Huns, easily impressed 
by the supernatural, the Sword was a certain 


DARING THE DYING 


179 

sign that Attila was their chosen future king. 

The Huns declared their idol to be the fa¬ 
vorite of the Storm-Gods and vowed that the 
Sword was forged of lightning; the Scythians 
held it to be the sword of the war-god, Mars, 
and told another story of its finding, so as to 
claim it as their own; the Goths believed that 
the Sword had been sent down from heaven, 
and laid stress on the fact that Attila had be- . 
come a Christian, at least in name. 

In this conversion—if it could be called such, 
since Attila ^s character was no whit changed 
thereby—Goderedd had been a most important 
factor. It had not been brought about without 
some trouble and considerable danger, for At¬ 
tila was resentful of advice. There had been 
one especially dramatic moment, when Goder¬ 
edd had insisted to the king that his three sons 
must be brought up as Christians. Only the 
sight of the armlets on the Goth’s arm had 
saved him from the king’s wrath. Rhekan, too, 
had bitterly resented this lapse from heathen¬ 
dom, but Goderedd’s influence was too strong 
to be overcome. The Goth had always been so 
helpful and loyal to the Hun chieftainess, and 
so stern and efficient a guardian of her sons 


i8o IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


during the periods of Attila’s absences on his 
campaigns—often a year long at a time—that 
the boys regarded him almost as a second 
father. 

If hostility had been evident among the 
tribes in Bleda’s kingdom, the feeling was 
quite otherwise as they approached the great 
central camp—^it was more a roughly built city 
than a camp—of the Huns. For miles around 
the soldiers flocked to see the famous con¬ 
queror, and Attila rode up to King Euas’ gor¬ 
geous tent of purple silk in a cyclone of 
shouting. 

The old king, cavernous-eyed, thin-lipped, 
propped up on pillows, sat in state on his couch 
to receive his nephew, the greatest warrior of 
his race, whom he had not seen for nearly four¬ 
teen years. The tent was full of counsellors and 
generals when Attila, the Sword girded at his 
side, entered. He was followed by his three sons 
and by Mirkhond and Goderedd, the mage in 
Persian robes, Goderedd fully armed and hel- 
meted. 

Attila went forward, drew the Sword, and 
presented the hilt to King Kuas in token of 
homage. The old king looked at it curiously. 


DARING THE DYING i8i 

Then, with a questioning glance of permission 
at Attila, he grasped it feebly and drew it from 
the scabbard. 

The Sword began to glow with light, as when 
its master held it. 

Attila smiled grimly, a gleam of yellow teeth 
behind the sparse beard. 

‘‘The Flaming Sword knows a true Hun, 
King Ruas! ’ ^ he said. ‘ ‘ See! It glows! ^ ’ 

The king took a firmer grasp of the Sword, 
and, as every one present saw, the touch of it 
seemed to give him vigor. He sat almost up¬ 
right upon his couch and whirled the blade 
about his head, as in the days of his strength. 
But the spurt of force was brief, and, in a 
moment, he sank back, gasping, returning the 
blade to Attila. 

The enfeebled monarch was exhausted, but 
his cold and cruel eyes still held a vivid speck 
of light. He had dominated the Huns for thirty 
years, and, during that time, he had never 
raised his voice, made a friend, nor forgiven an 
enemy. Death itself was not more remorseless 
than Ruas, King of the Huns, nor more sud¬ 
den. His words were few, his orders fatal. His 
silence was almost as dangerous as his speech. 


i 82 in the time of attila 


He spoke at last, low, clear, icy. 

‘T have held the Sword. It is the sword of 
a king. Nephew Attila 

Bleda, standing at the foot of the couch, 
scowled at the words, the more so as a stern 
hum of approval ran round the circle of the 
counsellors. King Ruas’ saying was an almost 
open declaration that Attila should be regarded 
as a rightful claimant to the throne. 

Then the King’s eye fell on Goderedd, and 
he raised himself on one elbow. 

‘^A Goth! Helmeted! In my tent!” 

Sheer surprise kept the old monarch from 
giving the order to slay. 

Goderedd advanced, drew his sword, and 
saluted, Roman fashion. 

‘^Hail, King Ruas! I am Goderedd.” 

The counsellors gasped. No excuse, no 
obeisance! Was the Goth mad? 

‘ ‘ I remember, ’ ’ said the King. ‘ ‘ My envoy to 
Atawulf. A pity you must lose your head by 
sundown. ’ ’ 

‘T shall not lose it,” said the Goth. have 
learned the thoughts and ways of kings.” 

Ruas looked, and waited. 

‘T am here to guard the sons of Attila,” 


DARING THE DYING 183 

Goderedd continued. ‘‘You know the story, 
King. Where enemies are, I retain my arms.’’ 

“Enemies!” 

“The word of a lance, King Ruas; enemies!” 

The King’s glance traveled round the circle 
slowly, then rested a while on Bleda, who 
gnawed his lip, but dared not speak. Then the 
glance shifted to Attila, and back again to God¬ 
eredd. 

“Hun law,” said the king. “No man stays 
helmeted in the royal tent. ’ ’ 

“Laws are made by kings, not for kings,” 
answered the Goth, stoutly. 

No one had ever seen King E-uas smile, but 
there came a flicker in his eyes. 

“More,” went on Goderedd, “I should doft 
helmet instantly. King Ruas, were you alone. 
With those that are here, no!” 

“It is my will, also!” put in Attila curtly, 
with that swift and fiery command which was 
a part of his magnetic force. 

Ice and fire exchanged glances. 

“You speak freely, Nephew!” 

The words dropped slowly. 

“I fight freely, King!” 

The words were as a flame. 


i84 in the time OF ATTILA ' 

Slowly King Enas turned his head towards 
Bleda. 

‘‘Your word!’^ 

“It is Hun law that it is death to disobey the 
King/’ came the reply, given sulkily. 

The chilling eye dwelt long on Bleda’s uneasy 
face. 

“A lizard hiding beneath a stone!” The 
phrase cut with contempt. “You speak for 
yourself through me. I have little love for liz¬ 
ards, Nephew!” 

Euas then looked pensively at his execu¬ 
tioner, hut turned his head away without giving 
the sign of doom. He fixed his gaze again upon 
the Goth. 

“Goderedd! You have heard. It is death to 
disobey the King.” 

“I have always known it. King Euas. But 
the King has not given an order.” 

“And if—” 

“I shall die, helmeted.” 

Attila’s deep-set eyes glowed, and his hand 
found the hilt of the Sword. 

King Euas saw the movement. Nothing es¬ 
caped those cold and piercing eyes. 


DARING THE DYING 185 

^ ‘ Rich stomachs, both of you! ’ ’ His voice took 
an edge that boded danger. 

Goderedd felt instinctively that there would 
soon be a killing, though it was impossible to 
tell on whom the King^s doom would fall. 

‘‘Hear me. King Ruas,^’ he said boldly. “You 
know well that I have been faithful to you and 
to Chief Attila, in the court of Attila and in the 
emperor ^s court. I hold my oath upon my 
arm—he shook the three bronze armlets. 
“What king is he who would bid a warrior 
break his oath? Not Ruas, surely! That is for 
lesser men!^’ 

“You have a sharp stroke of the word, Goth 

“And I of the sword,’’ quoth Attila. 

Unmoved, the King peered at him curiously. 

“You dare me, in my own tent. Nephew?” 

The Sword flashed out. 

It was a sufficient answer. 

“They did not lie who spoke about you, At¬ 
tila.” There was a pause as he glanced from 
Attila to Bleda and back again. “Lizard and 
tiger, brothers! ’ ’ 

He sank back on the cushions, a froth of blood 
at the lips, but his eyes did not leave Attila. 


i86 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


‘‘You should have been my son, Nephew, in¬ 
stead of that scrap of parchment, Kirdu! Let it 
be!’^ 

There was a silence while Douros, the King’s 
physician, wiped the blood from the cracked 
lips. Then the King’s eyes passed to Mirkhond, 
and the mage came forward. 

“How long, Mirkhond?” 

The Persian felt the King’s pulse and looked 
long into the narrow eyes. 

“Not long. Great King.” 

‘ ‘ Death is in the tent ? ’ ’ 

“A true word.” 

Again the King’s eyes sought out Attila. 

“Behold one foe. Nephew, that the Flaming 
Sword cannot reach: Death! How long, Mirk¬ 
hond ! ’ ’ 

“Before the second sunrise, or sooner, 
King. ’ ’ 

The eyes did not flinch. 

“Arrow-words, Mirkhond. Lift me, Douros! 
Warriors, hear! The King speaks. To my son 
Kirdu send my curses and the jewels of my 
crown; not the crown. Let him rot in Con¬ 
stantinople; he has deserted the tents of the 
Huns. Melt the crown and make two circlets.” 


DARING THE DYING 187 

Pain and weakness rang in the voice, but the 
tone held steady from sheer will. ‘‘The king¬ 
dom I leave to my brother’s sons, Attila and 
Bleda, both. It is said! Let it be written!” 

Gently Douros lowered the dying man upon 
the cushions. 

Bleda came forward quickly. 

‘ ‘ Shall Attila have the east, and I the west I ’ ’ 

The cold eyes pierced him narrowly. The lips 
did not move. Bleda waited for an answer, but 
waited vainly. 

“Has the King’s word been heard?” came 
the quiet voice from the bed. 

A murmured assent ran round the circle. 

“Go, all! Leave my physicians and my 
scribe.” 

Attila stepped forward, once more presented 
the hilt of the Sword to the King, then strode 
out first, thus claiming and asserting prece¬ 
dence. Ellak made as though to follow on the 
heels of his father, but Goderedd seized the 
boy’s shoulder and held him back. 

“Bleda has also been named for king,” said 
the Goth, reprovingly. 

“He is a traitor!” said the boy, hotly. 

Bleda, passing at the moment, heard the 


i88 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


word and spun upon his heel. His dagger flashed 
out on the instant. 

Goderedd, in mail, stepped forward. 

“I am still helmeted, King-Elect Bleda,’’ 
said he, clearly. 

For a second Bleda dared him, then turned 
furiously and stamped out of the tent, to come 
face to face with Attila. 

‘T have an order for you, Bleda So over¬ 
mastering was Attila’s personal power that the 
arrogance passed unnoticed. There is no di¬ 
vision of the kingdom while the King lives. 
There shall be no question between us, till he 
be dead. 

‘‘And after. Brother!’^ 

“I will determine. Go!^’ 

The counsellors pouring out of the tent heard, 
and clustered. 

Attila raised a finger. 

“Open a way!’’ he thundered. “Bleda, go!” 

No man alive, save Mirkhond, had ever 
faced the glare in the eyes of Attila when once 
it upflashed in anger. Bleda faltered, turned, 
stumbled, and almost ran. 

Attila watched him go, then strode away to 


DARING THE DYING 189 

his horse, Goderedd and the three boys fol¬ 
lowing. 

Gnngis was the first to speak. 

doubt that Bleda will live long,’’ he re¬ 
marked musingly. 

Attila wheeled on him. He knew his son’s sly 
and revengeful spirit. 

‘‘No treachery, Gungis!” 

The hoy made no reply, but his eyes did not 
lose either their craftiness or thought. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE POISONED GOBLET 

Close, close was the watch that the followers 
of Attila kept upon their chief and his camp. 
A double circle of sentinels was posted; all the 
ground between was burned clear of grass and 
brush, and sand was strewn thickly thereon. 
Even on the darkest night that pale-hued 
stretch would gleam clear. Not even a rat could 
cross it, unseen, much less an assassin in Ble- 
da’s pay. 

Two days later came the expected burst of 
shouting and wailing which announced the 
death of King Ruas. Straightway Attila 
marched out, the Flaming Sword girded at his 
side, a strong body-gniard of picked men before 
and behind. Bleda, at the head of an even larger 
body of men, met him at the place set aside for 
the death-feast of the dead king. 

Already a high table had been erected on a 
low, flat mound for the two kings-elect, who, 


THE POISONED GOBLET 191 

according to Hun usage, would take the meal 
on horseback; low tables had been placed for a 
few generals and counsellors of either party; 
the ground was strewn confusedly with vessels 
and with food, for most of the warriors pre¬ 
ferred to eat when sitting or sprawling. 

It was the custom of the Huns to celebrate the 
crowning of a new king by an enormous ban¬ 
quet, at which the body of the dead king pre¬ 
sided, laid in state on a funeral pyre, his rigid 
hand touching a goblet of mingled blood and 
wine. On this occasion, two goblets were beside 
the dead king, one on either side. His favorite 
war-horse, saddled and bridled, was tethered 
to the pyre. 

Two circlets of hammered gold had been 
roughly made from the metal of the old king^s 
crown, and these lay on silver shields on a 
table of lapis lazuli set on a rough wooden plat¬ 
form, under a silken canopy dyed with Tyrian 
purple and mended with rags. The vessels on 
the tables and on the ground were of gold and 
silver, of horn and common wood, indiscrim¬ 
inately. Spoils of richest value clinked against 
the roughest utensils of a camp. Much was 
showy and gaudy; all was soiled and bedrag- 


192 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

gled. The means for luxury were there, but 
degraded to a clumsy and sodden barbarity. 

Slaves from every nation had labored at the 
cooking, all night long, and dainties fit for an 
emperor ^s table stood beside smoking joints of 
half-roasted horse-flesh. Here, were Oriental 
sweetmeats; there, bears’ paws boiled in fat. 
Magnificent sturgeon from the Volga made 
dish-fellows with stinking marsh-eels and crabs 
soaked in rancid butter. Golden pheasants 
smoked beside mud-hens—^which latter it took 
the stomach and the nose of a Hun to endure. 
Salads of raw vegetables were heaped on the 
bare ground in piles and beside each pile was 
a jar of mulsum—semi-fermented grape-juice 
mixed with soured honey—^with which every 
feast began. Huge fires blazed, where kids and 
sheep were roasted whole, the entrails not even 
having been removed. Eich wines were drunk 
from ox-horns, and sour mares’ milk from sac¬ 
ramental chalices battered out of shape. The 
Huns gorged all, drank all, nor ever seemed to 
distinguish one dish from another. Unlike the 
Eomans, the Huns had no music at their feasts, 
but rarely was there any drunkenness—quan¬ 
tity of food was the prime essential. 


THE POISONED GOBLET 193 

This was Goderedd^s first sign of a Hun 
coronation, and it disgusted him profoundly. 
The Eomans, for all their decadence, had 
courtly ways; the Goths, though over-fond of 
drinking, were not gluttons. The barbarism of 
the Huns nowhere showed itself more clearly 
than in this voracious gorging, without regard 
to cleanliness or order. 

Toward the middle of the feast, at a given 
signal, all men stood. The moment for the cor¬ 
onation had come. A heathen priest, standing 
close to the pyre, slashed upward with a sword 
and cut the throat of the dead king^s horse. The 
poor beast fell, dead. 

Attila and Bleda, in their saddles, lifted the 
circlets of gold from the shields and placed 
them on their heads. The whole plain rang with 
shouts and acclamations, for the lines of guz¬ 
zling feasters reached almost as far as eye 
could see. The camp-ground fairly shook, some 
crying ‘^Bleda!’^ and others ‘‘Attila!’’ 

Then the dead king’s cupbearer took from 
the dead king’s hands the two goblets of blood 
and wine. 

Mirkhond, at a table to one side of the plat¬ 
form, watching closely, saw the cupbearer’s 


194 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

sleeve pass over the goblet of Attila and hesi¬ 
tate there an instant. 

‘^Poison he cried, but, in the frantic tumult 
of the shouting, no one heard him but those who 
were close by. 

‘^Poisonhe cried, again. 

Ellak, whom had been standing beside the 
mage, leapt forward a step, snatching to hand 
a javelin. 

Poising the weapon, he hurled it with all his 
might across the heads of the feasters; The 
keenest caster among the Huns, he could not 
miss at that distance. The point of the javelin 
struck the gold goblet held high in Attila’s hand 
and sent it crashing. 

At the flash of the steel, the shouting ceased 
suddenly. 

Attila whipped out the Sword. 

cast the javelin, I, Ellak!’’ shouted the 
boy, in the silence, before even a question could 
be asked. ‘^Poison!” 

The cupbearer stooped to snatch up the gob¬ 
let, but Gungis was there before him. Some 
drops remained. 

He handed it to his father. 


THE POISONED GOBLET 195 

Attila whirled upon his brother-king, the 
Sword in hand. 

‘‘Drink this, Bleda, my brother!” 

Bleda answered haughtily, 

“Why do you turn to me?” 

‘ ‘ That shall we see! Bring me a slave! ’ ’ quoth 
Attila. 

One of the kitchen scullions was seized and 
hustled to the king. 

“Drink this!” said Attila. “They say that 
it is poisoned. Only a few drops are left. 
Whether poisoned or not, after drinking I give 
you freedom, and a purse of gold besides. 
Drink! ^ ’ 

The slave turned white at the demand, but 
he knew that refusal would mean death, in any 
case. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank 
the remaining drops. 

For several moments, all men watched, for 
the potion seemed to have no effect. Then, sud¬ 
denly, the slave’s face distorted in pain, and 
he fell to the floor, convulsed and struggling. 

Mirkhond was already at the King’s side 
with a bowl of mare’s milk, the staple drink of 
the feast. 


196 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

He forced the slave’s lips open, and made him 
swallow a long draught of the milk. Vomiting 
followed, and, so small had been the amount of 
poisoned wine left in the goblet and so quickly 
had the remedy been given, that, very shortly, 
the crisis was past, and the slave, tottering, 
got to his feet. 

‘Tt is red mushroom. King Attila,” said 
Mirkhond, ‘T know the symptoms well. A 
mouthful would have killed. ’ ’ 

He reached for the other goblet, which Bleda 
had^set upon the table when challenged by At- 
tila. The mage smelt it, tasted a drop. 

There is no poison in King Bleda’s cup!” 
he said, meaningly. 

The uproar was resumed. Again rose cries of 

Bleda!” and of ‘‘Attila!” Weapons were 
drawn, and there would have been instant fight¬ 
ing had not the thunder of the the voice of At- 
tila been heard above the din. 

‘‘Continue the feast!” he roared. “Set light 
to the pyre! King Euas shall not see his death- 
guests leave the banquet, hungry! Send for an 
armorer to fetch his forge, and quickly! The 
cupbearer shall taste hot iron before us all and 


THE POISONED GOBLET 197 

tell us what he knows. There is a sauce to spice 
your meat, my warriors!’^ 

The rough Huns yelled in wild approval. 

Bleda^s glance turned sideways a moment to 
where sat his chief counsellor, Onegesius, a 
Greek. A minute later, the Greek had slipped 
away from the table. In the tumult and the riot 
none saw him go, save Gungis. 

Stealthily, unobserved, partly covered by the 
smoke rising from the funeral pyre on which 
was burning—with a smell of crisping flesh— 
the body of the dead king, Onegesius crept be¬ 
hind the horses of Bleda and Attila to where the 
cupbearer lay, cowering. 

A swift stroke of the knife across the throat, 
and the cupbearer had gone to that land where 
no torture would force him to tell his tale. 

Glancing up, Onegesius saw Gungis watching 
him. He showed no indecision. He had studied 
the boy’s character. He put a finger to his lip. 

Gungis considered. This was making him a 
confederate in villainy, but, at the same time, 
he realized Bleda’s wisdom in silencing his tool, 
and he could not help a certain admiration for 
the craft and cunning of Onegesius. 


198 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

A few moments later, an armorer came run¬ 
ning, a slave behind him carrying a portable 
forge, and another a vessel with glowing char¬ 
coal. 

Fetch the poisoner!’^ ordered Attila. 

Several men ran. 

A babble of voice rose. 

‘^Dead!^» 

‘‘He has been slain!’’ 

Attila turned in his saddle and looked down. 
The glare of the pyre, faint in the late after¬ 
noon sun, showed the still flowing blood. The 
man was dead, his throat cut from ear to ear. 

“Who did this?” he roared, his hand on the 
hilt of the Sword. He wheeled on Bleda, who 
met his glance. Attila stormed inwardly, but 
he knew that his brother had not left the 
saddle. 

Onegesius and Gungis exchanged glances. 
The boy had considered his own position. He 
was not the oldest son, and was little liked by 
his father. Ellak would undoubtedly succeed to 
the throne, and Ellak loved him even less. He 
would have to make his own way in the world 
—^better to have his uncle Bleda’s interest than 
his hate! The lad’s mind, naturally treacherous. 


THE POISONED GOBLET 199 

saw the gain of holding a guilty secret over 
Bleda and Onegesius. Time enough to employ 
the knowledge when it might serve him—it 
could not serve him now. A secret told is a 
secret wasted. 

Attila’s anger was blasting, but he choked 
it down. 

Throw the poisoner to the crows he said. 
‘‘And take that forge away, lest I heat irons 
therein for other men!’’ 

He glared at Bleda. 

“Poison and throat-slitting! A royal ban¬ 
quet!” Attila’s strident laugh rang over the 
plain. “Feast! Feast all! Bring me a soldier’s 
food!” 

Not a morsel did he touch of the dainties on 
the royal table, and not a word did he speak to 
Bleda, but his eyes never left his brother’s face. 

Bleda, scorched under that gaze, did not eat. 
From time to time he drank great draughts of 
wine to calm the fever and the fear within, but 
he dared not speak. 

So ended the death-feast of Ruas, King of 
the Huns. 


CHAPTER X 


OITB ARMLET GONE 

I 

The morning after the feast found Attila in 
one of his coldest moods. He had determined 
on his action. Though proofs might be found 
to fasten the poisoning of the goblet upon 
Bleda, he quelled every investigation. 

Attila saw clearly that any attempt to re¬ 
fuse to Bleda his half-share of the throne 
would only begin a civil war among the Huns. 
In so loosely held an empire such a fratricidal 
war might be fatal. The subjugated peoples— 
such as the Ostrogoths, Tetraxides, or Gepids— 
would be only too glad to seize the chance of a 
conflict in rulership to make themselves free. 
That might ruin the empire. Bleda, ripe with 
vengeance and with hate, would side with any 
one against his brother, even though it wrecked 
the power of the Huns. 

Without a day^s delay, Goderedd was sent 
as a special courier to notify the Emperor 
Valentinian III of the death of Euas, and of 


200 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


20 r 


the crowning of Attila and Bleda. Bleda could 
not object to this choice. It was evident that 
Goderedd, by reason of his friendships at the 
court of Ravenna, and especially with the 
Empress-Mother, was clearly the messenger to 
send. It was made a part of his mission, also, to 
express the willingness of Attila to renew the 
treaty which had existed between King Ruas 
and the Western Empire. 

Ellak accompanied him. The presence of a 
son of Attila lent honor and distinction to the 
embassy, and the Hun conqueror was eager that 
his eldest son might have an opportunity to 
learn something of the ways of courts. 

Goderedd was received with open honors and 
evident pleasure by Gallia Placidia and the 
Emperor. Apartments in the imperial palace 
were prepared for him and for Ellak, and the 
Goth was delighted to find himself again in 
the frank confidence of the Empress-Mother. 
She had much to tell him, and Goderedd was 
able, once again, to gather up all the threads of 
that tangled skein of intrigue and plotting 
which made up the history of those times. Ellak 
was received as was fitting to his princely rank, 
but he disliked the court intensely. The young 


202 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


fellow had the savage Hun strain strong in 
him, and, before a week was past, he was eager 
to return to the freedom and wildness of a 
camp. 

In vain did the Empress Placidia try to 
learn from Goderedd what would he the con¬ 
ditions of the treaty that Attila desired to make. 
Kuas had been a hard bargainer, and it was not 
likely that Attila would be less so. Yet it was 
clear that any treaty with Attila would be better 
than none, for Goderedd admitted freely that 
that great Hun leader had vast ambitions. 

In those days, court officials—^usually Greeks 
—^were sent as envoys and ambassadors, but 
Goderedd urged strongly that the head of the 
embassy to Attila should be a soldier. Accord¬ 
ingly, Gains Flaccus was named, and the em¬ 
bassy set forth, bearing rich presents for the 
two Hun kings. Goderedd and Ellak returned 
with the Eoman envoys. 

With his characteristically abrupt fashion of 
settling everything to suit himself, Attila sent 
a messenger to the approaching embassy, nam¬ 
ing for a meeting a place on the open plain. 
Goderedd wondered, for, so far as he knew, 
there was neither city nor camp there. 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


203 


What was the amazement of the envoys, as 
they approached the meeting-place, to find a 
group of horsemen awaiting them, but neither 
a banqueting-hall, nor even a tent pitched! 

In this summary fashion, Attila had pre¬ 
vented all disputes and quarrels concerning 
precedence, which Bleda might have used as a 
cause for trouble. On horseback, all men were 
equal. Bleda fumed inwardly, for a council on 
the open plain gave him no opportunity for 
secret and treacherous conversations with the 
ambassadors, on which he had hoped and 
counted. 

When he saw Attila and Bleda awaiting them, 
Ooderedd was dumfounded for a moment, then 
the true reason flashed upon him. Spurring be¬ 
side Gains Flaccus he declared his belief that 
this uncourtly reception could not be intended 
as an insult to Rome, but was probably due to 
Attila’s desire to avoid contention with his 
brother-king. 

‘Tt pleases me not,’^ said Gains. ‘^Two heads 
have two tongues.’’ 

Attila and Bleda, on horseback, were seated 
side by side when the ambassadors reined up, 
and Bleda took the first word, depending on his 


204 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

well-known eloquence to give the impression 
that his authority was the greater. 

‘‘Nobles, and honorable citizens of Home, you 
are welcome—’’ he began, and launched into a 
flowery speech. 

When he had ended, there was silence. 

Gains looked at Goderedd with a questioning 
glance, for Attila had not spoken. The Goth 
imperceptibly shook his head. 

Attila stared straight over his horse’s head, 
and said no word. 

A less experienced man than Gains Flaccus 
might have been discomposed by such a curt 
reception, instead of the endless debates and 
banquets usual to such a mission, but, thanks to 
his conversations with Goderedd along the way, 
he had a fair inkling of the real position in the 
Hun kingdom. He settled back comfortably in 
his saddle, to wait. 

Attila lost patience, first. 

“You have no tongue, Eoman?” 

“It is the custom. King,” said Gains, calmly, 
“for a king to be the first to speak.” 

‘ ‘ My brother Bleda has spoken—at length! ’ ’ 

“Truly!” said the Eoman, but he said no 
more. He had no intention to commit his em- 



ONE ARMLET GONE 


205 

bassy to a broil by any precipitancy at the 
start. 

Bleda took np the tale. 

‘Tt is our wish,’’ he began in bland tones, 
‘Ho enter anew into friendly relations with 
Rome—” 

“Does King Bleda speak also for King At- 
tila?” interrupted Gaius. 

Bleda looked sidewise at his brother, who 
continued to stare over his horse’s head. It was 
most embarrassing. He had screwed up all his 
courage to be the first to speak, and now the 
Roman envoy refused to accept him as sole 
spokesman. 

Goderedd shifted uneasily in his saddle. He 
knew Attila well, and was quite aware that the 
King would not speak until the decisive mo¬ 
ment. Attila’s ways were often unexpected, and 
always abrupt. 

“I have a message from Valentinian Caesar 
to two kings,” said Gaius, in a voice that was 
level and collected. “I await their attention.” 
He slightly emphasized the pronoun. 

“You may speak, Roman!” came Attila’s 
harsh order. 

In brief and soldierly fashion, Gaius de- 


2o6 in the time of attila 


livered his formal message of greeting, address¬ 
ing himself principally to Attila. 

For the first time Attila looked at him. 

^‘Twenty words, only, instead of lengthy 
speech. It is well. But, Eoman, I have seen you 
before!’’ 

“At Marcianopolis, King. I led the Fourth 
Legion.” 

“Ah! You may tell Valentinian I am content 
with his envoy. To a soldier, I will speak. These 
are the offers of friendship that the kings of the 
Huns make to Eome—” and in short phrases he 
outlined the terms of a most exorbitant treaty. 

“Does King Attila speak for King Bleda?” 
queried Gaius stoutly. 

“I said the ^kings’!” repeated Attila. 

“Soldier to soldier, Attila,” said Gaius, 
dropping the title, “I have a soldier’s orders. 
Orders from the Emperor. I cannot take the 
word of one king for both.” 

“One sword is enough for both,” came the 
swift reply. “It is with my sword that Eome 
will have to deal.” 

“Yet must I have my answer. King Bleda, are 
these terms to your liking!” 

Bleda dared not say “No,” greatly though 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


207 

he resented being made to submit to an agree¬ 
ment in which he had not even been consulted. 

‘T agree to them/’ he said reluctantly. 

^^Then can I answer,” said Gains. ‘‘The 
terms are not such as I can carry to Caesar! ’ ’ 

Attila looked at him with real approval. This 
was but the beginning of the bargaining, as 
both sides knew, and, before evening, all the 
details were settled, Bleda having no part in 
the discussion. 

The agreement, known to history as the 
treaty of Margus (not far from the modern 
Belgrade), was greatly in favor of the Huns. 
The yearly tribute formerly paid to Ruas was 
doubled, fugitives on both sides were to be sur¬ 
rendered, free markets—open to Hun and Ro¬ 
man alike—^were to be established both in the 
empire and in the Hunnish kingdom, and any 
tribe with which Attila might be at war was 
excluded from alliance with Rome. In return, 
Attila guaranteed the frontiers of the empire 
from Hun and Mongol invasion, permitted the 
free enrollment of Huns in the Roman forces, 
and granted ten thousand men to the imperial 
army, on the sole condition that these troops 
should be attached to the armies in Gaul, under 



2o8 in the time of attila 


the leadership of the general Litorius, himself 
a Hun. 

The conference was nearly ended, and the sun 
was not far from its setting, when a cloud was 
seen upon the horizon, which resolved itself 
into an army at full gallop. The horsemen, in 
their hundreds, wheeled once around the group, 
shouting madly, and dismounted. Almost by 
magic, tents shot up, huge fires were built, bales 
of baggage unpacked, and, by the time the first 
stars had begun to gleam, a banquet and all ac¬ 
commodation was ready. But, at the banquet, as 
Goderedd noted, on either side of every man of 
the Koman embassy sat or lay one of Attila’s 
trusted warriors, nor could any spy or emis¬ 
sary of Bleda slip in a single word. 

The banquet was nearly ended, when Vher- 
nak rose and asked permission to speak. 

‘‘A boon. King Attila, my father!’^ 

The king looked kindly at him. Vhernak was 
his youngest and his favorite son, and he was 
willing to grant him anything. 

^‘Ellak has been to Kome. Gungis has been 
to Constantinople. I have never seen the cities 
of the empire. Let me go with the soldiers to 
Litorius! ’ ^ 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


209 

Attila looked at his son approvingly. He had 
great hopes in the future of Vhernak, in spite 
of Mirkhond’s veiled predictions, and he was 
very willing that his youngest son should be, for 
a time, out of Bleda’s reach. The boy was young 
and reckless, and Attila knew that Bleda would 
not hesitate at murder. There was less danger 
for his other two sons. It would take a clever 
head to circumvent Gungis, and he intended to 
take Ellak mth him on his next campaign 
against the Mongols, to learn the art of war. 

It was true that Vhernak was ignorant of 
the ways of the Roman Empire. A stay in the 
court of Ravenna and in the discipline of the 
Roman Army might develop the boy a good 
deal. For the moment, there was no serious war 
in Gaul. Goderedd’s guardianship was of great 
value, for he was not only a friend of the 
Empress-Mother, but also of Theodoric, whose 
comrade he had been when he was an envoy 
to the court of Atawulf. 

‘Ht is said!^’ Attila agreed. ^‘Ride, Vhernak! 
Goderedd rides with you.’’ 

A few weeks later, Goderedd, in command 
of the ten thousand men that Attila had 
promised to the Emperor, set off for Ravenna, 


210 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

delighted to find himself again at the imperial 
capital. He put his army corps under the com¬ 
mand of his old friend Aetius, and, with Gains 
Flaccus as a willing guide, made his first visit 
to Rome. He was welcomed by Maximinius, the 
sub-prefect, but Placidia soon summoned him 
back to court. 

Vhernak, who had his father’s gift of popu¬ 
larity with soldiers, rapidly became a favorite 
with the Roman army, though it was in vain 
that Goderedd tried to win the Empress’ favor 
for the boy. Although not so rude in character 
as Ellak, the boy was a true Hun and only at 
his ease in the air of a camp. For over a year 
Vhernak stayed in Italy, visiting various mili¬ 
tary garrisons, and making himself at home 
wherever he went. Gradually he became accus¬ 
tomed to the comparatively luxurious life of an 
officer in a Roman camp, but he never lost his 
desire for the wilder life of the steppe. No one 
was more delighted than this thirteen-year-old 
boy when, at last, Aetius announced that he 
would take the armies to join Litorius in Gaul, 
for the Visigoths were growing restive again 
and needed a sharp lesson. 

The smashing defeat which Aetius had ad- 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


2II 


ministered to Theodoric at Arles had kept the 
Visigoths in order for a time, but, when Aetius 
left Gaul, they began to revolt again. Litorius, 
the Hun, on whom the command of the Roman 
armies in Gaul had fallen, was perpetually 
harassed with a guerrilla warfare which was 
costly in money and men. 

At last the Visigoths dared to try to retake 
Narbonne. This was not to be endured. Aetius 
mustered an enormous army, taking six legions 
(thirty-six thousand men) with him as well as 
fifteen thousand auxiliaries, made a junction 
with Litorius, and marched swiftly upon the 
Visigoths besieging Narbonne. It took Aetius 
exactly two hours to raise the siege, and the 
Visigoths retreated, fighting stubborn rear¬ 
guard actions as they went. 

This was not enough. Aetius determined to 
bring Theodoric into submission. He was al¬ 
most as great a general as Stilicho, and Theo¬ 
doric was a much weaker foe than Alaric the 
Goth. Rome’s honor was involved. In consul¬ 
tation with Goderedd and Litorius, he deter¬ 
mined to besiege Toulouse, the Visigothic capi¬ 
tal, and thence to march across their kingdom 
to the sea. 


212 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


On the march a messenger came riding. 

‘^Lord Aetius, the Empress Placidia bids me 
tell you that Petronius Maximus has been made 
Prefect of Eome and seeks your disgrace. The 
Empress bids you return with all speed, leav¬ 
ing the campaign in Gaul to Litorius.’’ 

Aetius swore most soldier-wise, for Petro¬ 
nius Maximus was a bitter personal enemy. 
Though the general did not know it, then, Maxi¬ 
mus was to be his doom. Had he been a prophet, 
he would have seen that, a year later, Maximus 
was to murder the Emperor and place himself 
on the throne of the Cassars, only to be mur¬ 
dered himself, three months after, when fleeing 
from Genseric the Vandal. But he could not see 
the future, and obeyed the Empress’ order, 
leaving the full command to Litorius. 

In some ways, Litorius was worthy of the 
trust; in others, not. A daring leader, a gallant 
fighter, an able strategist, Litorius was still a 
Hun and had a Hun’s uncontrollable temper 
and lack of judgment. He felt—and with some 
reason—that the combined armies which he led 
W’ere so powerful that Toulouse would not even 
dare to try to resist him. 

To Theodoric, also, the Visigoths’ case 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


213 


seemed hopeless. The disciplined legions under 
Litorius were more than twice as large as the 
rougher warriors of Theodoric. The Roman 
army, moreover, possessed siege artillery. 
Every century had a ballista or catapult, 
able to throw a stone of one hundred and fifty 
pounds weight a distance of four hundred 
yards, and every cohort had an onager or scor¬ 
pion drawn by oxen, of more than double the 
power. Each legion had an engineer corps, with 
scaling ladders, trenching materials, and all the 
requirements for building siege towers. Under 
the threat of this powerful and thoroughly- 
equipped army, Theodoric sent an embassy to 
Litorius to ask for terms of honorable sur¬ 
render. 

This embassy was headed by Orientius, 
Bishop of Auch, and a large body of clergy. 
Litorius received them with insolent discour¬ 
tesy. Goderedd was present with the generals, 
and also Vhernak. 

‘^Most Noble General Litorius,’’ the Bishop 
began, “I am a bearer of a message from Theo¬ 
doric, King of the Visigoths. As a Christian 
king, he does not wish to see useless blood shed 
between Christian men. He desires to know 


214 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

upon what honorable terms Toulouse may be 
surrendered. ’ ’ 

‘^His head/’ said Litorius, ‘‘and his four 
sons to grace Caesar’s triumph. ’ ’ 

The Bishop could not believe that he had 
heard aright. 

“Most noble general,” he said, “we are 
speaking of honorable surrender!” 

“I am not,” said the Hun. “No surrender is 
honorable. Tell Theodoric that I will have his 
head, whether it be sent to me or no. If not, 
when I take Toulouse, I will determine whether 
to leave any person alive in it, or no.” 

“You forget,” said Orientius, “that you are 
speaking to a Christian bishop. ’ ’ 

“See you. Bishop,” said Litorius. “When 
Toulouse is in ashes, we will speak of Chris¬ 
tianity, not before.” 

Goderedd interrupted. 

“Litorius,” he said, bluntly, “this will be the 
will neither of Aetius, nor of the Emperor. ’ ’ 
“It is mine I” 

“Yet surely—” 

“Do your men rebel?” 

“They are under your orders, whatever those 
orders be.” 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


215 

‘‘Well said. And yoiiT’ 

“I am not under your orders. Nor is Vhernak, 
the son of Attila. But I warn you—this saying 
shall do you harm. ’ ’ 

“I can guard my own head,’^ said the Hun. 
“As for your threat, my soothsayers have told 
me that I shall go in triumph through Tou¬ 
louse.^’ He turned to Orientius. “The embassy 
is answered.” 

The bishop returned sadly with Litorius ’ an¬ 
swer, and with the further news that a son of 
Attila accompanied the host. But the Hun’s 
savagery changed the Visigoth temper. No one 
spoke further of surrender. 

Theodoric put off his kingly robes, dressed 
as a penitent, walked barefoot through the 
streets to the church where Orientius was 
bishop, and spent much of the night in prayer. 
The Goths were inspired by the King’s piety, 
and clamored to be led against the Roman army. 
A sally, in force, was decided. 

An hour before dawn, all the Visigoths were 
gathered behind the gates. 

At Theodoric’s orders, the bells of all the 
churches rang peacefully, as though calling the 
people to the morning service. The Roman sen- 


2i6 in the time of attila 

tinels smiled. Much good, they thought, would 
prayers do the Visigoths when the siege began! 
Litorius was awake. The sound of the church- 
bells only filled him with the more contempt 
for the Visigoths. 

Suddenly, all the gates of the city opened 
simultaneously, and the Visigoths swept upon 
the Eoman camp with a rush. The Eomans were 
taken absolutely by surprise, for they looked 
for nothing but a new embassy of surrender. So 
sudden and so powerful was the blow that the 
camp was thrown into confusion, and Litorius 
was taken prisoner. His soothsayers had spoken 
truth, he would go through Toulouse in tri¬ 
umph, but in Theodoric’s triumph, not his own. 

Goderedd and Vhernak were still sleeping 
when the camp was rushed. The Goth had 
barely time to snatch his weapons and to rouse 
Vhernak, planning to find some place of safety. 
But, at the first onset, an arrow struck Vher¬ 
nak in the neck, wounding him mortally. He 
fell at Goderedd ^s feet. Goderedd stood above 
him and fought off all assailants, until the fury 
of the attack swept by. 

It was a sally, not a battle, and, having cap- 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


217 

tured Litorius, the Visigoths were more than 
content. 

Riding hack to the city gates, Theodoric saw 
the figure of Goderedd, at the edge of the camp, 
standing alone amid a ring of dead. 

‘‘Bring that man here!’’ ordered the King. 
A couple of Visigoths advanced to execute the 
command, but Goderedd raised his blade. 

“Before I kill you both, send Theodoric to 
me! ’ ^ he said commandingly. 

One Visigoth looked at the other, but God¬ 
eredd spoke with authority and they knew that 
the King would prefer a hostage to a corpse. 
One man returned. 

Theodoric spurred forward. 

‘ ‘ Surrender! One sword against an army! ’ ’ 
Goderedd lowered his blade. 

“I am not fighting for the living, Theodoric 
the Balthing, but for the dead. Come closer. 
Have you forgotten Goderedd T’ 

“Goderedd?’’ Theodoric searched in his 
memory. “Ah! The Hun envoy. With Ata- 
wulf. That is long years ago, but I remember. 
Come, you are my captive.” 

“Do you take prisoners of the dead?” 


2i8 in the time of attila 


‘‘You are not dead, Man!’’ 

“No, but the son of Attila is. He lies be¬ 
neath. ’ ’ 

The Yisigoth King stroked his long beard. 

“I would not have had it so,” he said. “He 
shall have the burial of a king’s son. But his 
body must be carried through the streets of 
Toulouse, first.” 

“For your triumph, Theodoric?” 

“You have said.” 

“The dead have paid their debts. King Theo- 
doric. No fault was it of Vhernak’s that he was 
the son of Attila. To parade the dead for your 
own vanity, Theodoric, is the act neither of a 
Balthing nor a Christian.” 

“By St. Hilda! You speak plainly, God- 
eredd. ’ ’ 

“I did to King Sigeric!” ' 

“That I remember, too.” 

“So, plainly, Theodoric, I will tell you why 
the son of Attila shall not grace your tri¬ 
umph—” and he told the story of the armlets, 
given twenty-five years before. 

“Now the saints forbid that I should make a 
warrior break his oath,” declared the Visi- 
gothic King, when the tale was finished. “You 


ONE ARMLET GONE 


219 


have not left the boy, living; it shall not be my 
doing that you leave him, dead. What is your 
will. Friend GodereddT’ 

“A silver coffin for Vhernak, King Theo- 
doric, and a guard of a dozen Visigoths of your 
personal following, to tell Attila how died his 
son. I will answer for their safety anywhere in 
the Roman Empire or in the Kingdom of the 
Huns.” 

‘‘What, beside?” 

“Let Bishop Orientius see that all is fitly 
done. And he shall see that one of these arm- 
lets is placed in the coffin. ^ ’ 

“It shall be done with every honor. More— 
since Litorius is disgraced—I will make terms 
of peace with Rome.” 

And, next day, when all the rites were 
over. King Theodoric, bareheaded, and the Ro¬ 
man general, second in command to Litorius, 
grasped arms in token of amity across the little 
silver coffin. 

“Tell Attila this!” said Theodoric. “If his 
son has not lived to make war, he has lived to 
make a peace.” 



CHAPTER XI 


A traitor’s doom 

Goderedd expected little less than death at 
Attila’s hands, for having been nnable to shield 
Vhernak from the fatal arrow in the sally of the 
Visigoths at Toulouse, but both his oath and his 
honor forced him to return. There were, none 
the less, serious difficulties in his path. 

Bleda’s weakness as a warrior king and his 
strength as a crafty diplomat had practically 
necessitated the division of the Hun kingdom 
as before. It was compulsory that Attila’s 
sword should defend the kingdom against Mon¬ 
gol invasion; it was not the less necessary that 
Bleda should keep the courts of Rome and 
Constantinople in a grip shrewd enough to 
compel the payment of tribute. 

With only twenty men at his back, and with 
the silver coffin containing the body of Vhernak 
in his care, Goderedd did not dare to pass 
through Bleda’s kingdom. The casket might be 




220 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


221 


allowed to pass; it was sure that he would not be. 

To reach Attila’s camp in Scythia, therefore, 
only two routes were available. Either he must 
go through Constantinople, cross the straits, 
and follow the southern coast of the Black Sea, 
or traverse the Caucasus Mountains; or else 
travel far to the north through the country of 
unsubdued Goth tribes, whose cupidity could 
not but be excited by the silver cojfifin. He chose 
the latter, fearing less the robber instinct of the 
warlike Goths than the treacherous plottings 
of Byzantines and Orientals. 

It would be long and needless to tell all 
Goderedd’s adventures amid the Goth tribes 
through whose territory he passed: Burgunds, 
Alains, Franks, Sueves, Beiges, Scands, Esths, 
and many others. By one tribe he was received 
with hostility and suspicion; by another, with 
welcome. 

The Alains, remembering the defeat of 
Eadagais by the Huns, were eager to revenge 
themselves upon the body of Attila’s son, and 
Goderedd escaped from their hands in a man¬ 
ner that bordered on the marvelous. The Alain 
country lay so far to the north that the tribes¬ 
men feared neither Rome nor Theodoric. Five 


222 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


« 

months he was a prisoner there, and it was due, 
alone, to a mother ^s pity for the unburied Vher- 
nak that he was able at last to elude his guards. 

The farther north that Goderedd went, the 
less was he known and the less did the wild 
tribesmen fear either the Empire or the Visi¬ 
goths. That he won through, at all, was due to 
his boldness, for he succeeded in awakening 
the sense of honor in these savage Goths, and 
more than one tribal chief personally accom¬ 
panied the cortege for one day’s march. Not 
once did a robber band—and Goderedd met 
several—touch the silver casket. They were 
reckless enough of life, but death was a thing 
they held in respect. Yet it took a year of toil¬ 
some adventuring before Goderedd reached At- 
tila’s camp at last. 

The great conqueror rode out to meet the 
body of his son and greeted Goderedd with fa¬ 
vor, to the young Goth’s immense relief. Theo- 
doric had been more than as good as his word. 
He had sent a letter to the Emperor of the 
East, at Constantinople. Theodosius, in turn— 
on the advice of his sister, Pulcheria—^had sent 
a courier with the letter to one of Attila’s gar¬ 
risons in Persia, whence it was hurried ,to At- 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


223 

tila himself. The news thus was received nine 
months before Goderedd^s arrival, and the fate 
of the silver coffin had been shrouded in mys¬ 
tery during all that time. 

Since his son’s death was thus an old story, 
Attila and Rhekan had nothing but gratitude 
toward Goderedd for having succeeded in 
bringing Vhernak’s body to the homeland, in 
the face of such dangers. 

A huge funeral pyre was built and the 
body of Vhernak, still in its coffin, was placed 
thereon. A horse was sacrificed, and all pagan 
and Christian rites sumptuously performed. 
The pyre was lighted at the setting of the 
moon. The heat melted away the silver, and 
burned the inner coffin of wood. Next morning, 
when the ashes of the fire were cold, the bronze 
armlet which Mirkhond had placed upon God¬ 
eredd’s arm, twenty-six years before, was found 
embedded in the precious metal. Here was a 
solemn evidence that Goderedd had kept his 
oath. 

Ellak, now twenty years old, had become a 
famous warrior, his father’s right hand on the 
frontier. He no longer stood in need of God¬ 
eredd. He could take care of himself, for, though 


224 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

he would never be such a leader of men as At- 
tila, he was scarcely less vigorous a fighter, and 
even more powerful in frame. 

Gungis’ life had developed very differently 
during the years that Goderedd had been in the 
west. He had gone to Constantinople, where he 
had become a close friend of his cousin Kirdu, 
the only son of King Euas, now an official in 
the Byzantine court. Few people really liked 
Gungis, for he was secretive and sly, but the 
young fellow had made himself feared in the 
court, for he knew how to have a finger in every 
conspiracy without risking his own neck. 

The truth was that Gungis had designs upon 
the Eastern Empire and he believed that the 
Imperial throne would be more easily attained 
by craft than by warfare. He was especially 
anxious to win the favor of Pulcheria, the Em¬ 
peror’s sister, one of the finest characters in 
early Byzantine history. She had held the reins 
of power during her brother’s minority, and 
was still the dominating factor in the few good 
things accomplished by Theodosius II. In this 
courtship, Gungis made little progress, save in 
one regard. He opened Pulcheria’s eyes to 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


225 

Bleda’s treachery, and thus seriously weakened 
his uncle’s power. 

The tale of Gungis and his plottings belongs 

rather to Byzantine history than to that of 

the Huns, and would be incomprehensible 

without a close and detailed account of the in- 

% 

tricate political and religious conspiracies and 
counter-conspiracies that ravaged that tor¬ 
mented capital. It may be omitted here, but one 
characteristic piece of scheming gave Attila his 
opportunity to leap into world fame, and has its 
place in this story. 

Six years had passed since Goderedd’s re¬ 
turn. They had been busy years: years of 
fighting in the east and in the north; years of 
organization in Scythia and the steppe-lands. 
The Goth tried his uttermost to instil into the 
Huns some sense of the need of organized gov¬ 
ernment. He urged the establishment of agricul¬ 
tural settlements, but the Huns would neither 
sow nor reap; he sought to raise herds, but the 
Huns would neither tend the flocks, tan hide, 
nor work leather. He planned towns and mar¬ 
kets, but the Huns preferred tents which could 
be moved when the garbage smothered them; 


226 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

and all commerce they disdained. As for laws— 
they would have nothing but their own savage 
customs. 

It was up-hill work. The more he strove at 
it, the more Goderedd became convinced that 
the Huns could not take root in Europe. Bob¬ 
bers and slayers they were; robbers and slayers 
they would remain. Mirkhond warned him that 
his reforms would tend to hurt the Huns rather 
than help them, but Goderedd, eager to better 
the people of his adoption, could not see why. 

One thing was certain; just as surely as the 
Huns showed themselves incompetent of ad¬ 
vance, so surely were the subject nations of 
Ostrogoths and Gepids capable of it. They wel¬ 
comed Goderedd’s counsels, the Huns rejected 
them; they developed, the Huns stood still. Ten 
years later, this simple fact was to change the 
whole course of European history. Progress 
twists the efforts of men to its own ends. 

Goderedd was keen to see the value of Gungis 
as a permanent representative at the court of 
the Eastern Empire. Distrusting Bleda, he es¬ 
tablished an irregular service of couriers by 
boat around the Black Sea coast from the 
Crimea to Trebizond, and thence by the im- 



A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


227 

perial road through Anatolia, thus evading all 
contact with Bleda’s territories. He visited 
Gungis and Theodosius more than once, thus 
keeping touch with Gungis according to his 
oath, and, besides, he won Pulcheria’s approval. 
Through her, he succeeded in having one half 
of the Hun tribute paid to Attila, instead of all 
of it to Bleda, as before. 

Bleda, finding his power ebbing and suspect¬ 
ing both Gungis and Goderedd, determined to 
force his way into Constantinople and to marry 
Pulcheria. For such a project as this, Attila ^s 
help was essential. The taking of Constanti¬ 
nople, even could it be compassed, would re¬ 
quire the combined effort of all the armies of 
the Huns, and Attila, alone, could direct such 
a host. 

For a year, messengers went to and fro be¬ 
tween Bleda and Attila, and, at last, Attila 
agreed. He was convinced that, at the last mo¬ 
ment, he could snatch the fruits of victory from 
Bleda, and, perhaps, take Pulcheria for himself. 

Young Gungis saw the matter differently. He 
planned to have the Huns slay Theodosius and 
then, by betraying both his father and his uncle, 
he could pose as the savior of Constantinople 


228 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

and be rewarded with the throne and the hand 
of Pulcheria. Bleda, Attila, and Gungis—all 
three—^were agreed on seizing Constantinople 
for the Huns, but each wanted the imperial 
throne for himself. 

Neither one of the three counted seriously on 
Goderedd. He was known to be loyal to Attila, 
and he was known, also, to dislike conspiracy. 
But the plotters made a mistake in not realizing 
that Goderedd saw through the plans of each. 
He had little trust in Gungis, none at all in 
Bleda, and, in this matter, he could not endorse 
Attila’s ambition. He had proved that the Huns 
could not be civilized. 

Eemembering the coronation banquet—and a 
thousand other things—Goderedd realized that 
the capture of Constantinople by the Huns 
would only result in spreading barbarism 
throughout the world, and that the Byzantine 
Empire, feeble as it was, yet was far in advance 
of all that the Huns would do. Thus, while loyal 
to the Huns, he was secretly antagonistic to 
their victory. Such was the state of affairs 
when, in 445, Attila, Bleda, and Gungis met to 
plan an attack upon Constantinople. 

It was the first meeting of the two kings since 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


229 

the coronation, and each was watchfully suspi¬ 
cious of the other. The meeting was entirely se¬ 
cret, with only five persons present. These were 
'Bleda, and his chief counselor Onegesius, the 
Greek; Attila, with Goderedd for his chief coun¬ 
selor—Mirkhond was ill; and Gungis, who pre¬ 
ferred always to be his own counselor. The 
meeting was a strange one for an alliance, since 
each was trying to divert the other’s plans, 
without the purpose being seen. 

In debate, the advantage was undoubtedly, 
with the wily Bleda and the smooth-spoken One¬ 
gesius. Against this were set the personal vio¬ 
lence and power of Attila, and the keen but 
straightforward diplomacy of Goderedd. Gun¬ 
gis satisfied his own plans by drawing both 
parties into an alliance, at the same time sowing 
seeds of discord which he would ripen, later. 

The meeting began calmly enough, but, very 
shortly, the sheer dominance of Attila’s per¬ 
sonality made everything hinge around him. 
Gungis played directly into the hands of his 
father, having first induced Bleda to commit 
himself. When the council was ended, Bleda 
realized that his own eagerness for the imperial 
throne had put him in a false position. Attila, 


230 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

as acknowledged leader of all the armies, would 
be considered as the chief, if not the only, king; 
Gungis, with his intimate knowledge of affairs 
in Constantinople, would certainly checkmate 
him there. 

Back in his tent, brooding, he sent for One- 
gesius, counselor, confidant, secretary, valet— 
anything that he might command. The Greek 
hurried in. Bleda stormed at him for their fail¬ 
ure in the council, and Onegesius did not even 
make excuse. He knew that Bleda’s rages were 
of no importance. The king was only worthy 
of a hearing when he commenced to plot. 

‘‘He must be got rid of!’’ declared Bleda, at 
last. 

“Which?” queried the Greek, softly. “Or 
shall we say, which first?” 

“What are you a Greek for, if you cannot tell 
which to slay first?” 

Onegesius stroked his smooth face. 

“Truly, King Bleda, it is not so easy. Let 
us suppose that Attila—ah, disappears, then 
your campaign against Constantinople fails.” 

“Gungis, then.” 

‘ ‘ That would be much simpler, ’ ’ purred One¬ 
gesius, “though Lord Gungis is not easily 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


231 

caught asleep. But I fear that Attila would sus¬ 
pect our doings, if Gungis should die suddenly, 
and Goderedd would certainly revenge him.’’ 

‘^Goderedd, then!” 

‘‘Easiest of all. King Bleda, but not particu¬ 
larly useful. Gungis and Attila would remain, 
all the more on their guard.” 

Bleda thought for a few moments. 

“Goderedd first,” he decided. “It will be eas¬ 
ier, then, to put Gungis out of the way.” 

“And how. King?” 

“Choose your own way. But see that it be 
done quickly.” 

The Greek lifted his eyebrows slightly, and 
left the tent. 

Gungis had not been idle since the closing of 
the council. He had come secretly from Con¬ 
stantinople, but he had not come alone. His 
body-guard was small, some fifty men, but most 
of them were spies rather than warriors. He 
sent one of these men, swiftly, to the tent of 
Onegesius, while the Greek was speaking with 
the king. Already his plans were made. 

Clearly, the one thing for him to do was to 
play on the greed and ambition of Onegesius. 
Listening carefully to every word of the coun- 


232 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

cil, Gungis saw clearly that Bleda must be the 
one to suffer, and that the key of the situation 
lay, therefore, in the Greek’s hands. 

Onegesius, returning to his tent after his talk 
with Bleda, found a large purse of gold thrown 
on the fur-covered couch. The crafty Greek con¬ 
sidered. Bleda would have given it openly, At- 
tila had no reason to bribe him, Goderedd would 
never have sent it. The gold must have come 
from Gungis. He sought the young Hun in 'his 
tent, and found him lying awake. 

‘‘He is a clever warrior,” said Gungis, as the 
Greek entered, “who can tell in a battle whence 
an arrow comes.” 

Onegesius answered, 

“Not all archers shoot golden arrows.” 

There was no need for lengthy parley with 
a man of the Greek’s quickness, and Gungis 
came to the point at once. 

“Onegesius,” he said, “in crossing a stream, 
which does a wise man choose—the weak plank, 
or the stronger one I” 

“It is understood,” said the Greek, not wish¬ 
ing to mention names. “Let us consider the 
stronger bridge—^if there is no toll to pay.” 



A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


233 

‘Tt is there for the using. All men will use it 
if the weak plank break. ’ ’ 

Onegesius considered. Bleda’s desire to mur¬ 
der some one, any one, was a confession of 
weakness. If the weak plank should break, as 
Gungis put it,—in other words, if Bleda should 
be slain—his own position, as Bleda’s chief 
counselor, would be gone. Gungis’ suggestion 
that he should work secretly for Attila appealed 
to Onegesius, for Bleda’s death would make At¬ 
tila the sole king of the Huns. True, in that case, 
Onegesius would have Mirkhond and Goderedd 
for rivals, but Mirkhond was old and feeble, 
and the Greek considered himself more than 
a match for Goderedd. 

‘T will use the strong plank,” he said. ‘^And 
my Lord Gungis?” 

‘‘When the river is crossed, the march begins 
anew,” came the reply. “Whoso knows the path 
in unknown country has an advantage.” 

The Greek 'nodded. By betraying his own 
master, he was sure of the favor of Attila, 
or that of Gungis, or both. Attila would be 
sole king; Gungis was powerful in Constan¬ 
tinople. 


234 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘T shall be glad to be shown the path/’ he 
decided. 

Between two men like Gnngis and Onegesius, 
both accustomed to the indirect fashion of deal¬ 
ing which was customary in the Byzantine 
court, enough had been said. The Greek bowed 
himself out of the tent. 

He had scarcely gone out of sight when one 
of Gungis’ spies slipped in. 

‘^Lord Gungis! You have been heard! I saw 
a man creep from under the edge of your tent 
when Onegesius left!” 

Gungis turned on his elbow. 

‘‘You did not shoot?” 

“The arrow struck, but the man ran on.” 

For a second or two Gungis thought rapidly. 
The spy, undoubtedly, must be of Bleda’s party. 
If so, there was no time to lose. 

“Quick!” he said. “Overtake Onegesius, and 
tell him! ’ ’ 

The spy disappeared and caught up to the 
Greek within a hundred yards. A few words 
were enough to explain the situation. 

Onegesius did not even stop to think. He saw, 
instantly, that his own neck was in danger. He 
hurried to Bleda’s tent, only stopping on his 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


235 

way to unstring a bow outside a soldier’s tent. 
Whatever happened, he must get to Bleda be¬ 
fore the wounded messenger. 

As the king’s chief counselor, with access to 
the king at all times, the sentinels let him pass 
without any other word than a low caution that 
the king was sleeping. 

Onegesius wakened him, without ceremony. 

‘‘King Bleda, wake!” he said hurriedly. 
“There is something to be told.” 

Bleda, ruffled from sleep, peered at the Greek. 

“Speak!” he said, trying to rouse his dor¬ 
mant faculties. 

“I am this moment come from the tent of 
Gungis,” said Onegesius—^it was essential that 
he should tell this before any messenger came. 
‘ ‘ He sent me a purse of gold. I went to see what 
was his plan. He plots your death. I humored 
him.” ' 

The Greek breathed more freely. The mes¬ 
senger might come, now, if he would. There 
would be nothing further to tell than what had 
already been told. 

Bleda lay back on the cushions. He was too 
suddenly awakened to think clearly, yet. Then 
he laughed dully. 


236 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘‘I also plotted his death,’’ he said. ^^We 
think alike.” 

‘^That is understood, King. But we must act 
carefully. Gungis is clever.” 

Bleda moved impatiently. The news was most 
unwelcome. Gungis was known as a consum¬ 
mate plotter. The king tossed on his couch 
uneasily. 

Onegesius came nearer. 

‘^Let me set the cushions straight,” he said. 
As the household confidant of the king he served 
him constantly in these petty offices. 

Willingly the king raised himself a moment, 
asked the Greek for a goblet of sherbet, and 
lay back on the cushions again. In the dimness 
of the tent, he did not see the bowstring which 
Onegesius had deftly laid on the cushions under 
the king’s neck. 

^^Then,” said Bleda, ‘‘you will have to dis¬ 
pose of Gungis before Goderedd. Understand 
me, Onegesius! That is your affair.” 

‘ ‘ Goderedd is not dangerous, and Gungis can¬ 
not be slain, here. Attila is here.” 

‘ ‘ What, then 1 Find a way 1 ’ ’ 

“I have thought of a plan,” said the Greek, 
coming nearer and slightly behind the king, 


A TRAITOR’S DOOM 


237 

‘‘but the sentinels must not hear. Gungis may 
be decoyed away by—’’ 

As he stooped to speak to Bleda in a lower 
voice, suddenly he seized both ends of the bow¬ 
string, crossed and pulled them tight. 

Bleda tried to rise, to struggle, but the Greek 
put his knee on the king^s chest. The bowstring 
checked his breath. The victim tried to cry out, 
but no sound came. Onegesius’ hands were 
small, but sinewy, and they held the bowstring 
tight. 

Before two minutes were passed, the strug¬ 
gles weakened, the limbs relaxed. The Greek 
held firm. 

Still pulling the bowstring, Onegesius con¬ 
tinued to speak, as though he were conversing 
with the king, now in a low voice, now louder, 
that the sentinels might hear a seeming conver¬ 
sation. For complete assurance, he did not re¬ 
lax the string for fully ten minutes, by which 
time Bleda was surely dead. 

Then, still speaking, he walked toward the 
opening of the tent. At the entrance, he turned 
and spoke again to the dead. 

“You are obeyed. King Bleda. I will give the 
order.’’ 


238 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

He stepped out, then turned again swiftly, as 
though he had been called back. 

‘‘You are heard. King; I will give the order.’’ 

Leaving again, he went to the sentinels, and 
said quietly, 

“A messenger may come to-night, a false 
messenger. If he gives the word, let him pass 
you, then stab him in the back. There are assas¬ 
sins in the camp. Keep close guard on the rear 
of the tent. You heard, yourselves. King Bleda 
give the order.” 

“We heard him. Lord Onegesius,” said the 
sentinels. 

And the Greek went quietly to his tent and 
slept the sleep of a perfectly callous traitor, 
not once thinking of the blackened corpse lying 
on its kingly bed. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE princess’ BING 

‘‘My Lord Maximinius, I pray you be 
seated! ’ ’ 

The aged exarch, an important official in the 
court of Theodosius at Constantinople, with a 
friendly salutation seated himself, reclining, on 
a cushioned couch of ivory in the dressing- 
chamber of Honoria, granddaughter of Theo¬ 
dosius the Great. 

“It is no secret,” she continued, “that you 
have been named to lead an embassy to Attila. 
At least, so my secretary has given me to 
understand. ’ ’ 

“The Emperor has so decided. Most Illus¬ 
trious Princess,” he answered. 

Honoria, who, like most Roman and Byzan¬ 
tine ladies of her time, spent the greater part 
of the day at her toilette and the rest of it in 
intrigue, sent away her slaves and lowered her 
voice. 


239 


1240 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘^You have never seen this AttilaT^ 

‘‘No, Princess.” 

“But you know his reputation?” 

“I know him as well as a man may know 
some one whom he has never seen. His coun¬ 
selor and confidential courier, Goderedd, a 
Goth, was my guest during his stay in Eome, 
before Theodosius invited me to his court. We 
spoke much of Attila.” 

“Goderedd—the friend of the Empress- 
Mother, Placidia? I have heard of him. And 
what does Goderedd say of the King of the 
Huns ? ’ ’ 

“Much. That he is a man of immense per¬ 
sonal power, ugly, domineering, ambitious, and 
dangerous. Also, that he will be Master of the 
World, some day.” 

“It is much my own opinion. Maximinius, I 
am weary of being an exile and a prisoner! ’ ’ 

The exarch glanced around the room, which 
bore every evidence of luxury in its richest 
form. Honoria caught his glance and spoke pet¬ 
ulantly. 

‘ ‘ This city, where eunuchs and moiiks are the 
masters, is exile! I was bred a Roman, like your¬ 
self. ^ ’ 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


241' 

is not Rome, that is true,’’ Maximinius 
admitted. 

‘‘And I am a prisoner. Half a day’s ride from 
the Walls, I am stopped by the orders of Theo¬ 
dosius. I may see only such persons as Pul- 
cheria pleases, and I am not a woman of ice, like 
her! Is not that being a prisoner?” 

“The Most Illustrious Pulcheria is virtue 
personified,” the exarch admitted. “Let us ad¬ 
mit that this is rare in Constantinople and 
makes her, perhaps, a little over-strict. Then, 
too, the enemies of the Princess Honoria have 
wicked tongues.” 

He took good care not to express his knowl¬ 
edge that the scandals concerning Honoria— 
and which had led to her exile from Rome to 
Constantinople—^were fully justified. Honoria 
was a woman as daring as she was striking. It 
was her unhappy fate to be horn at a time when 
two exceedingly stern and chaste women—the 
Empress-Mother Placidia, and Theodosius’ sis¬ 
ter, Pulcheria—held the reins of power over 
both the Western and the Eastern Empires. 
Honoria had good reason to chafe under their 
restraint, and Maximinius, who had known 
Honoria ever since she was a child, sympa- 


242 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

thized with her. The conversation, however, was 
a dangerous one, and the exarch tried to turn 
it into safer channels. 

Honoria was not to be put oft by any trivial¬ 
ity. She had sent for Maximinius with a definite 
purpose and was not to be diverted in her in¬ 
tentions. At the first pause, she returned to the 
subject abruptly. 

‘‘Let us speak again of this embassy,’’ said 
she. “You must know, Maximinius, that, some 
years ago, I sent a message to Attila. He, at 
least, is a man; not like some of these effemi¬ 
nate Greeks who pester me like so many gnats.” 

The exarch knew it perfectly. It was his busi¬ 
ness, as a courtier, to know all the intrigues 
which passed, but there was no need for him to 
say so. 

“You have often honored me with your con¬ 
fidence, Honoria. But I do not recall your tell¬ 
ing me of any such message.’’ 

“Oh, let us talk frankly, Maximinius,” she 
retorted, impatiently. “You know it, of course. 
It was when I was still in Rome. But this you 
may not know: a year ago, the eunuch Chry- 
sapius came to me, disguised, with Attila’s ac¬ 
ceptance of my proposal. This is not for all 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


243 


ears to hear. But,’’ she smiled ingratiatingly, 
‘‘Lord Maximinius is certainly my oldest and 
truest friend.” 

‘ ‘ My own daughter is not more dear to me, ’ ’ 
said the Roman. “Come, Honoria, tell me just 
what is in your heart.” 

“Heart!” she laughed cruelly. “What is the 
market-value of a heart in Constantinople—a 
couple of bezants or the price of a basket of 
fruit! This is not heart, Maximinius, but rea¬ 
son—and revenge. I am betrothed to Attila, and 
I have asked him to come and rescue me.” 

“From whom? From Theodosius? From 
Valentinian? That, Honoria, is treachery to the 
Empire! ’ ’ 

“And has not the Empire been treacherous 
to me? Is my life nothing? Is Honoria a nun or 
a slave to be forbidden to come and go as she 
pleases? I ask your help, Maximinius, though 
but in a little thing. When you see Attila, give 
him this ring, and tell him that I await his 
coming. ’ ’ 

He looked at it. 

“The old ring of the Caesars!’^ 

“The ring of the Empire.” 

Maximinius hesitated. 


244 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

I 

‘‘Honoria,’’ he said, bluntly, you see 
what you are asking! I go as the ambassador of 
Theodosius to arrange terms of peace, yet you 
bid me give Attila your ring, bidding him come 
to rescue you—^whether you be in Constanti¬ 
nople or in Eome. That means invasion and 
war, with one empire if not with both. Such a 
double part fits not with my honor.’’ 

^‘Then the Lord Maximinius is not Honoria’s 
friend! ’ ’ 

‘‘If you bid me choose between Honoria and 
Eome, I should choose—Eome.” 

“You see that I have reason to trust you,” 
said Honoria, quietly. “How many Greeks 
would ansvrer me so! Every other man I know 
would pay me compliments to my face, swear 
fidelity on the bones of the saints, and then run 
straight to betray me to Pulcheria or the Em¬ 
peror. I hate Pulcheria! ’ ’ 

The old statesman sat plunged in thought for 
a few moments. Then he smiled gravely. 

“Asa Eoman,” he said, “I cannot refuse the 
request of a Eoman imperial princess; as an 
exarch, I should not go against the wishes of 
the granddaughter of Theodosius the Great; 
as a friend, it is difficult not to do anything that 



THE PRINCESS^ RING 


245 

Honoria asks me. This I can do. I can take the 
ring to Attila and repeat your words. I will not 
urge the matter, and, if Attila questions me, 
I will tell him all my thoughts. You must grant, 
Honoria, that I can do no more. ’ ’ 

The woman rose and knelt beside him, throw¬ 
ing her lightly draped arm across his knee. 

/‘You have never failed me,’’ she said, grate¬ 
fully. 

“Nor will I now, Honoria, but it is an evil 
doing, of which I see not the end. You have 
pledged your word to Attila?” 

“I have pledged it.” 

‘ ‘ The dice are thrown, then. The future must 
decide. Give me the ring. ’ ’ 

“When do you go, Maximinius? I heard—to¬ 
morrow.” 

‘ ‘ It may be to-morrow. I await only the Em¬ 
peror’s orders.” 

“And you will not say a single good word 
for me to Attila?” 

“Silly child! All that honor permits me I 
will say. Honoria’s credit will not be dimmed 
by my words, nor her beauty by my descrip¬ 
tion.” 

He rose. 


246 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘‘You have considered what this may bring, 
HonoriaT’ he added gravely. 

“Then more words will be thrown to the 
winds. I will bring you Attila’s answer. Fare¬ 
well ! ’ ^ 

Thus it happened that in all honor, and yet 
with Avarring motives and messages, Maxi- 
minius set out for Attila^s camp. Bad faith was 
a thing which had no place in the old Eoman’s 
heart, and nothing was farther from his mind 
than that the Emperor Theodosius might be 
making use of his rugged honesty as a cloak for 
Byzantine trickery. 

The doings of that strange and treacherous 
embassy are told in extensive detail by Priscus, 
a rhetorician and scribe who accompanied the 
embassy—it is almost the only historical docu¬ 
ment extant written by a man who had seen and 
known Attila personally. The account is too 
long and too full of political detail to be quoted 
at length, but Priscus^ description of Attila’s 
camp, as it was at that time, is striking and 
characteristic. 

“After having crossed several large rivers,’’ 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


247 

he wrote, ^^we came to the town where lived 
King Attila, a town almost like a vast city, 
with walls of planks so neatly joined together 
that it was almost impossible to see the joints. 
Vast dining halls spread over the plain, with 
doors curionsly decorated. The vast area of the 
court itself was encircled by a wall, and its very 
size showed that it was the royal palace. There 
dwelt King Attila, king of all those barbarian 
peoples, surrounded by his army; such was the 
dwelling he preferred, he who had his choice 
among numberless conquered cities.’’ 

Attila, in characteristic fashion, refused to 
receive the ambassadors until all the endless 
preliminary discussions should be ended. He 
disliked talk. Day after day passed in debate. 
The three chief Roman envoys were Maximin- 
ius, Vigilans, and the scribe Priscus. The five 
chief counselors of Attila were the eunuch 
Chrysapius—^who had been sent to Honoria, 
Onegesius—who had thus been rewarded for his 
murder of Bleda, Orestes—the boy who had 
been saved from the aurochs by Goderedd, 
Mirkhond, and Goderedd. The debates were 
long, not because the embassy was complicated 


248 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

in itself, but because each of the partici¬ 
pants was working for himself rather than his 
master. 

Vigilans, almost from the first, drew marked 
attention to himself. Though not the head of the 
embassy, he set out to make trouble. He aroused 
the anger of the Huns by the statement that 
there could be no real discussion between the 
Emperor and Attila. 

‘‘Theodosius,’’ he said, “partakes of the 
nature of a god; Attila, that of a man. ’ ’ 

That council, after a heated wrangle, broke 
up in confusion. 

‘ ‘ Goderedd, ’ ’ said Mirkhond to him, when the 
meeting was dispersed, “what think you of 
Vigilans ? ’ ’ 

“He is a fool with a bad temper.” 

The mage shook his head. 

“You Goths!” he said. “Never will you 
understand an Oriental. Ask Onegesius to come 
here.” 

The Greek presented himself shortly. Though 
sure of his own superior cunning, he was con¬ 
scious of the Persian’s superior wisdom. Mirk¬ 
hond put him the same question. 

“Vigilans? He is Janus, with a face looking 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


249 

two ways. He has some reason for wishing to 
appear rough and over-honest.’’ 

Mirkhond nodded. He had been sure that the 
wily Greek would not have been blind. 

‘‘And Chrysapius!” 

“Assumes a pretense of too little interest 
when Vigilans is speaking. Why?” 

‘ ‘ Onegesius, ’ ’ said the mage, ‘ ‘ I like not your 
character, and you hate me. It is understood. 
But there is no subtler mind than yours in At- 
tila’s camp.” 

The Greek almost purred. This was the very 
first time that Mirkhond had ever done him jus¬ 
tice. 

“Vigilans’ mind,” said the mage, “is an easy 
one to read. The reason for his coming I have 
read. He comes to murder Attila.” 

Goderedd started. Onegesius did not. 

“And Chrysapius?” 

“Is too* careful ever to betray even his in¬ 
ner thoughts,” said the mage. “You, Onegesius, 
being cleverer than both, will be able to find out 
the plot.” 

“I will'find it. Lord Mirkhond!” 

The mage’s confidence was not ill-placed. 
With a clew to Vigilans’ purpose, the Greek 


250 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

made the way smooth for constant meetings 
between the envoy and Chrysapius, and se¬ 
cured definite evidence. 

‘^Why do you not tell Attila, yourself?” 
queried Goderedd, when Onegesius put the evi¬ 
dence before him. 

‘^He does not trust me enough,” said the 
Greek, who knew that telling the truth occa¬ 
sionally was his best way to prepare the ground 
for future lies. ‘^But if Mirkhond or you will 
expose the plot, he will believe you.” 

That evening there was a special banquet, 
and, for the first time, Attila announced his 
intention to be present. Even the Eomans, ac¬ 
customed to the luxury of the Byzantine court, 
were amazed at the splendor of the table ap¬ 
pointments, the costliness of the vessels, the 
richness of the robes of the Huns, and the ex¬ 
travagance of the gifts. 

Attila, alone, would have none of this luxury. 
His own eating and drinking vessels were made 
of wood, his dress—so Priscus declares—^was 
of the simplest stuff, without even a single 
jewel. His large head was bare—the hair al¬ 
ready turning white, he had grown heavier with 
advancing age, his squatness and dispropor- 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


251 

tionate chest were aggravated by a stoop, and 
the fiery magnetism of his youth had dimin¬ 
ished. Yet was he still the embodiment of driv¬ 
ing power. 

He sat alone, on a high dais, and watched 
the feasters with a cold and disparaging eye. 
Upon Vigilans and Chrysapius his glance 
rested often. The Roman envoy, uneasy, drank 
heavily; Chrysapius grew paler and paler. 
Under Attila’s gaze, first a suspicion, then fear, 
then terror, and, at last, an inner panic took 
possession of him. An arrant coward at heart, 
he felt his self-possession and his brain reel 
in the cold fire of Attila’s eyes. 

Toward the end of the feast, the King of 
the Huns raised his hand. 

There was instant silence. 

And these were the words of Attila, as Pris¬ 
ons recorded them: 

‘^Attila, son of Mundzuk, and Theodosius 
are the two sons of noble fathers. Attila re¬ 
mains worthy of his sire, but Theodosius is de¬ 
graded, for, in paying tribute to Attila, he is 
thereby declared a slave. And now this per¬ 
verse and wicked slave lays a secret plot against 
his master. In no light can this be regarded as 


252 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

other than a thing fonl and unjust, and Attila 
will not cease to proclaim the iniquity of an 
Emperor afraid to deliver up to justice the 
murderers his gold has suborned!’^ 

This was as a stone hurled by a catapult in 
the midst of the feast. 

Maximinius leaped to his feet. 

‘‘Attila, King of the Huns,” he cried, “if you 
can prove that this embassy was sent by Theo¬ 
dosius for purposes of murder, my head is 
yours!’^ 

“It is my right to take it,” said the Hun. 

“Better that than dishonor! Who are my ac¬ 
cusers?” 

“My words were for the miscreant Theodo¬ 
sius. At Attila’s table is no place for accusation 
or discussion. The proofs are sufficient for me. 
That is enough. ’ ’ 

“Eight or wrong. King Attila, it is my duty, 
in the Emperor’s name, to give you the lie. ’ ’ 

“You do not, Maximinius,” said the Hun, 
“and I have not heard the word.” 

He turned to Mirkhond. 

“Speak! But name no names!” 

The murmur which had risen round the tables 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


253 

at -Maximiniiis ’ speech hushed to absolute still¬ 
ness as the mage rose. 

With clearness and precision, the mage set 
forth the plot in all its details, as Onegesius 
had found it out. He proved that one of the 
Roman envoys had been bribed by the Emperor 
with fifty pounds in weight of gold. He proved 
that certain archers were ready posted to send 
a volley of arrows at Attila as he left the ban¬ 
quet hall. He proved that one of Attila’s own 
counselors was in the plot and had been re¬ 
warded with a promise of a high post in the 
imperial household. No names were mentioned, 
but it was clear who were the traitors. 

‘Wigilans—” thundered Maximinius, but 
Attila checked him. 

have said that there shall be no names. 
If the conspirators betray themselves, that is 
another matter.’’ 

Again he looked at the mage. 

‘^Mirkhond!” 

The Persian advanced a step. He did not say 
a word, but fixed his eyes on the eunuch Chry- 
sapius. All men followed that glance. Vigilans, 
his jaw dropping, stared. 


t 


254 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

The wretched eunuch tried to look away. Im¬ 
possible! The direful power of the Persian 
mage held him, like an insect lured to a torch 
flare. 

His lips opened, and he tried to speak. No 
word came. 

He stumbled to his feet and staggered for¬ 
ward, not seeing where he went. His hands 
picked nervously at his dress, his face went 
gray, his lips white, his nostrils pinched. His 
feet dragged, as though paralyzed. 

Inch by inch he stumbled on. 

With a wild gesture he frantically dashed his 
hand across his brow, threw up the other hand 
as though to ward off the mage’s eyes. 

A stronger will than his drew him on. 

So they faced each other—would-be mur¬ 
derer, and mesmerizing mage. The soul of one 
was naked to the gaze of the other, and he knew 
it. With a supreme effort he turned his eyes 
away, only to catch the not less terrible gaze of 
Attila. 

His nerves snapped. With a cry that sounded 
non-human, Chrysapius fell to the floor, strug¬ 
gling, convulsed, foaming at the mouth, scream¬ 
ing wild words which convicted him utterly. 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 


255 

Then the creature subsided into moaning un¬ 
consciousness. 

Mirkhond looked at Vigilans, and then at 
Attila with question, as though to ask whether 
he should serve the Roman the same way. 
‘‘No!’’ said the Hun. 

The single word broke the spell of silence. 
Maximinius, still on his feet, drew his sword 
and threw it at Attila’s feet. 

“I resign my exarchate!” he said, hoarsely. 
“I make myself a prisoner. On my oath, I knew 
nothing of this.” 

Mirkhond looked long at him. 

“That is true,” said the mage. 

“I have never doubted it,” said Attila. 
“Goderedd, restore to Lord Maximinius his 
sword. The dishonor is not his. Maximinius, you 
will come to my council-house at sunrise, armed. 
I shall be there, alone, without the Sword. We 
will discuss the treaty. Are you satisfied?” 
“Your trust. King Attila—” 

The Roman choked on the words. Almost the 
tears were in his eyes at this splendid recog¬ 
nition of his unstained honor. 

Attila raised his voice. 

“Warriors all! You have heard. This em- 


256 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

bassy comes from Theodosius with fair words 
of promise and with intent of murder. Hear, 
all! Though dishonored, fit companions for the 
corpse-eating kites, they are still the guests of 
Attila. It is my will that to-morrow they shall 
go in peace. See you to it!’’ 

He left the hall, but Maximinius followed 
him. 

‘ ‘ This night. King Attila, I watch at the door 
of your chamber.” 

Attila answered not a word. 

At dawn, the Hun king found the Eoman 
there, with sword drawn. He passed him with- 
'out a greeting and went to the council hall. 
Seated upon his throne, he changed to instant 
friendliness. 

‘‘Maximinius,” he said briefly, “I have said 
my belief that you had nought to do with this 
treachery. Let it be forgotten between us. For 
the treaty, I accept the terms, save that I re¬ 
fuse the title of Duke of the Empire, which 
Theodosius bade you bring. My full reply shall 
be given at the head of my armies at the gates 
of Constantinople. The embassy is answered.” 

“Eemains yet another matter. King Attila.” 

“Another murder plot?” 


THE PRINCESS’ RING 257 

‘‘Not unless war be murder. I bear this mes¬ 
sage to King Attila. The Most Illustrious Prin¬ 
cess Honoria— 

“Ab!’' 

“The Princess Honoria, kin neither in mind 
nor spirit to Theodosius or Valentinian, to 
whom you are betrothed—according to her 
word—sends you this ring and bids me tell you 
that she waits.” 

“No more than that?” 

“No more, King, but it is much. I told the 
Princess that it did not fit my honor to bear a 
message from the Emperor, urging peace, and 
the ring from an Imperial Princess, urging war. 
But Honoria is a woman, commanding, beau¬ 
tiful, such as even Rome rarely breeds, living 
in exile and restraint, seeking the Master of a 
World for mate.” 

“What is the ring?” 

“The ring of the Caesars. The imperial ring 
of Old Rome. What is your answer. King?” 

Attila took the ring, looked at it closely, and 
slipped it on his finger. Mirkhond’s prophecy, 
made so many years before, came back to his 
memory: “You shall wear upon your finger the 
destinies of Rome!” 


258 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

‘‘Tell her/’ said Attila, “I come!” 

An hour later, the Eoman embassy rode 
forth. It numbered one more than at its coming. 

Mouthing and gibbering, frothing at the lips, 
now rising in his stirrups and now huddled 
upon his horse’s neck, tightly bound, maddened 
for life and lunatic with fear, sat a figure of 
doom, insanity in his gestures and an abiding 
horror in his eyes. 

It was Chrysapius, the eunuch. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 

Whethek because of Theodosius’ intended 
treachery, or because Fate had struck the hour, 
Attila now set his eyes definitely on the con¬ 
quest of the world. To the east, he had pushed 
his empire to the frontiers of China, he held 
Persia, and all the region now known as Rus¬ 
sia, the Balkans, Hungary, Austria, and Po¬ 
land. Three points for conquest remained: Gaul, 
Rome, and Constantinople. 

The Eastern Empire was a difficult nut to 
crack. Though feeble and decadent, Constan¬ 
tinople could not be taken by force by an army 
of Huns and barbarians. It was surpassingly 
strong and impregnably fortified; as the great¬ 
est commercial city in the world, situated on 
two seas, it could not be starved out. 

Rome—to which both Honoria and his own 
ambitions beckoned him—was easier to take, as 
Alaric the Goth had shown. But a direct at¬ 
tack on Rome was dangerous. It would leave an 

259 



26 o in the time of attila 


invading army exposed to attack simulta¬ 
neously from Gaul, Ravenna, and Constanti¬ 
nople, and the wheat-ships from Africa would 
be stopped, unless he made alliance with Gen- 
seric, the Vandal. 

Gaul, therefore, was the first point of at¬ 
tack. Attila began by tricky policy. He tried 
to set the Visigoths and Rome at war with each 
other, thus giving him the chance to fall upon 
both. But he lacked envoys worthy of the task. 
Chrysapius was mad, Onegesius must remain in 
Scythia, Mirkhond was too old, and Goderedd 
refused a mission of trickery. It was the first 
breach in his friendship with Attila. Orestes 
was sent, failed in his mission, and never re¬ 
turned. Valentinian wrote to Theodoric, warn¬ 
ing him that it would be necessary for Visigoths 
and Romans to fight together for ^‘the republic’ 
of peoples ’ ’ against the Hun. Theodoric, on the 
advice of the bishops, pledged himself to lead 
the Visigoths, in conjunction with the Roman 
armies, against Attila. 

The plan of Attila was as simple as it was 
grandiose. Ellak should hold the east. Gungis 
should hold Scythia. Attila, himself, with the 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 261 


bulk of the armies, would sweep across Europe, 
conquer Northern Gaul, thence overrun South¬ 
ern Gaul and destroy the Visigothic kingdom, 
and so, with no enemies behind him, conquer, 
first, the Western Empire and, then, the East¬ 
ern. It was, in brief, a march of destruction 
from Eussia through what is now Germany to 
France and thence back through Italy to Con¬ 
stantinople, sacking Eome on the way. The 
track of the Hun was to be a black circle of 
death around the whole of Europe. A more au¬ 
dacious plan of conquest has never been con¬ 
ceived. 

Attila had become the Enemy of the World. 
In appalling arrogance, he declared that no 
human being, save he, should wear a crown in 
any land. He declared himself: ‘ ‘ By Divine 
Power, King of the Huns and All Peoples, the 
Eternal Fear of the World, and The Scourge 
of God.^’ This latter title pleased him most, and 
all the decrees of his later years were issued 
under the title of: ^‘Attila, Master of the 
World, the Scourge of God.^^ Mirkhond^s 
prophecy was coming true. 

In 450, both Placidia and Theodosius died. 


262 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


leaving the two empires in confusion. It was 
the moment for that supreme attempt at con¬ 
quest, whose danger was so great that it shook 
the world and left the name af Attila the Hun 
forever a term of dread and a symbol of de¬ 
struction. 

In the autumn of that year, Attila left his 
headquarters in Austria with an army of four- 
hundred and fifty thousand men and marched 
up the Danube, ravaging Bavaria and Swabia. 
He made his winter quarters at Regensburg 
(not far from the present Nuremberg). The 
winter was spent in reducing all the Germanic 
tribes to tribute, the small armies sent upon 
this task having simple and brief orders: trib¬ 
ute, or the sword for every person and the 
torch to every hut. These tribute-demanding 
columns swept all the shores of the Baltic and 
reached the North Sea at Holland. During this 
winter, Attila’s empire reached its greatest ex¬ 
tent, from Holland to the frontiers of China. 

One serious check to Attila’s plans was the 
hostility of the Burgunds, masters of Switzer¬ 
land, and the two Burgundies (Savoy and 
Eastern France). The envoy sent to demand 
tribute returned with his ears cropped off, and 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 263 

then had his head itself taken off by Attila. 
The Bnrgunds either misunderstood Attila’s 
plans—or understood them too well. They re¬ 
fused to allow Attila to pass through their ter¬ 
ritory, and, especially, to cross the Rhine. 

This crossing was a crucial point in the whole 
campaign. The Burgunds and Alamans held 
the Rhine from Basle to Mainz and all the re¬ 
gion between was covered with heavy forests. 
It might be possible to force a crossing at 
Basle, but, beyond, lay the infertile and rugged 
country of the Jura and Vosges Mountains. A 
huge army needs food. Attila, the strategist, 
therefore, decided to cross the Rhine near Co- 
blentz and to thrust his enormous body of men 
forward into the rich and fertile country around 
Treves and the valley of the Moselle. 

To hold the Burgunds in play, he sent Theo- 
domir the Ostrogoth, with fifty-six thousand 
men, to force the Rhine at Basle. That fight is 
worth the telling, but it must be passed by. 
Theodomir crossed, captured Basle and Colmar, 
and, later, occupied Strasbourg. 

Attila crossed the Rhine between Bonn and 
Coblentz with three hundred and fifty thousand 
men. The crossing—there were nothing but 


264 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

small boats available—^took a week of hurry, 
day and night. Coblentz had but a small gar¬ 
rison and fell at once. Treves, a rich city, had 
none and was given over to the pillage of the 
army. Metz dared to resist for two days, and, 
as punishment, all its inhabitants were put to 
the sword and the city burned to ashes. The 
whole country was ravaged, slaughter and ra¬ 
pine ran unchecked. 

The conqueror was now ready for his swift 
charge on Gaul. The northern army, under An- 
dagis, Goderedd’s former lieutenant, centered 
on Rheims. The left, under Wolomir, took Toul, 
Epinal, and Neufchatel. The center, under At- 
tila, attacked Verdun, which resisted even more 
sternly than Metz, ’ but experienced the same 
fate. 

Rich with spoil, and sated with slaughter, 
the three armies joined and occupied the entire 
plain of Champagne, ideal for military pur¬ 
poses and rich in food-supply for the army. At- 
tila pitched his great camp near Chalons-sur- 
Marne, its bishop, St. Alpin, securing the con¬ 
queror’s clemency on its surrender. Rheims was 
entered three days later by Andagis and 
Attila. 



THE DECISIVE BATTLE 265 

For a week there was a general review of the 
army, while strong scouting parties were sent 
in advance in every direction. One of these ap¬ 
proached Paris, then known as Lutetia. Ac¬ 
cording to tradition, the city was saved by the 
courage and piety of a young girl: Saint Gene¬ 
vieve. 

The news of the Hun approach had thrown 
the whole city into terror. Genevieve, already 
beginning to be known as a saint, told the peo¬ 
ple that she had seen the vision of an angel, 
who told her that Attila would never enter 
Paris. A solemn procession was held in the 
streets, and a huge four-wicked candle, borne 
before the statue of the Virgin, blew out con¬ 
stantly though there was not a breath of wind. 
According to the legend, St. Genevieve declared 
that she saw a demon, with the face of a Hun, 
blowing out the light. The candle was lowered, 
and St. Genevieve—^without tinder or steel— 
lighted it by blowing on it with her breath. A 
fearful gale of wind arose immediately, but the 
candle, thus miraculously lighted, burned with¬ 
out a flicker. 

This miracle—for so it was taken—con¬ 
vinced all the people of Paris. At St. Gene- 



266 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


vieve’s bidding, all thonglit of flight was 
abandoned, large quantities of provisions were 
brought within the walls, and a strong barri¬ 
cade was built on the south road. The Hun 
scouts came as far as this barricade, but no 
farther. They reported to Attila that the city 
had been provisioned and fortified. As it lay 
out of the line of march, no attack was made on 
Paris, according to the promise of the angel 
of the girPs vision. St. Genevieve became, and 
still is, regarded as the patron saint of Paris. 

Very different were the happenings at 
Troyes. That city opened her gates to the con¬ 
queror. The captain of the Hun detachment, 
sent to occupy the town, allowed his soldiers to 
pillage it. The bishop of Troyes, St. Loup, sent 
a deputation of seven clergy in solemn proces¬ 
sion, carrying a copy of the Gospels, to beg At¬ 
tila’s favor. The conqueror received them 
kindly enough, but the horse of one of his 
generals, taking fright, threw its rider to the 
ground, killing him. Attila, in sudden terror, 
declared the clergy to be magicians, slew six, 
and bade the seventh return with the news. St. 
Loup himself headed another embassy, won At¬ 
tila’s favor and his friendship. For this friend- 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 267 

ship he came to be regarded as a traitor to 
Home and the Church—the strange events of 
his later life, with Attila’s host, do not belong 
to this story. 

From Troyes, Attila marched forward withX^ 
twenty-two hundred- thousand- men, leaving a 
reserve army at Chalons-sur-Marne under 
Theodomir, and setting strong detachments at 
every river crossing and strategical point on 
his line of march. He passed by Sens and Mon- 
targis, intending to concentrate his main attack 
on Orleans, the key to the Eiver Loire and all 
northwestern Gaul. Orleans was one of the most 
strongly fortified cities of Gaul, at that time. It 
possessed a double wall flanked by tower, a 
triple series of wide and deep water-ditches fed 
by the Loire, high palisades, formidable earth¬ 
works, and was well provisioned for a siege. 

Aetius had doubted that Attila would ad¬ 
vance so far and so fast. He was convinced that 
the Hun army would be weakened in its passage 
through Germany and through the territory of 
the Burgunds. The passage of the Ehine was an 
astounding feat, for, in those days, when boats 
were small and wide streams could not be 
bridged, a large river was an impassable ob- 


268 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 


stacle to an invading army. The Koman armies 
regarded the Ehine and the Danube as bound¬ 
aries not to be crossed. 

It was not until Attila was actually in Cham¬ 
pagne that Aetius perceived the fulness of the 
danger, and his military genius rose to the great 
occasion. He realized, as did Attila, that Or¬ 
leans was the key to Northern Gaul. Sangiban, 
at the head of ten thousand Alains, was bidden 
assume command of the defense of the city, 
and the famous Eighth Legion, composed ex¬ 
clusively of Gauls, was sent thither under 
forced marches. All non-combatants were or¬ 
dered to leave the town, the defenses were 
enormously strengthened, and three months’ 
provisions were placed within the walls. There 
were thus twenty thousand picked troops in 
Orleans, ready to resist all assault. 

So quickly and thoroughly had Aetius acted 
that all this was accomplished four days before 
Attila arrived before the gates of the city, on 
June 24, 451. Attila summoned the citizens to 
surrender, but St. Aignan, the bishop, who went 
out to answer the summons, proved himself as 
warlike as Attila himself, and declared that 
every man would perish beneath the walls 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 269 

rather than surrender; he even, for a moment, 
shook the indomitable Hun by his thundering 
denunciations and threats of hell-fire. 

The siege began. A month was spent in the 
manufacture of huge catapults, in the construc¬ 
tion of earthworks, in the building of mov¬ 
able towers, in the fashioning of scorpions 
which threw barrels of flaming tar over the 
high double walls. When the assaults began, the" 
resistance of the defenders of Orleans was 
heroic, but, day by day, night by night, the 
siege-towers drew nearer and higher, more and 
more of the defenders were slain, and the con¬ 
stant fires, started in the town by the tar-barrel 
projectiles, made fearful headway. 

Still Aetius did not come. He had the audacity 
to take time to set the whole country from the 
Pyrenees to the Rhine in battle order. He had 
bidden his various armies not to rally upon 
Orleans until Aug. 12, thus deliberately forc¬ 
ing that beleaguered city to defend itself 
against Attila for a month and a half without 
aid. 

Sangiban, finding himself unable longer to 
continue the siege, begged St. Aignan to go to 
Aetius and hasten him to the city’s relief. In 


270 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

the bishop’s absence, Sangiban—^historians dif¬ 
fer whether this was a ruse to gain time, 
treachery, or necessity—opened parley with 
Attila for conditions of surrender. Hostages 
were exchanged, and the city was ready to open 
its gates to the Hun when St. Aignan returned 
and put an end to all talk of surrender. 

Two days later, on the very day appointed, 
the armies of Aetius appeared at three differ¬ 
ent points on the horizon. There was not the 
ditference of an hour in their arrival, for 
Aetius had not wished to run the risk of a mis¬ 
calculation. Attila must be struck with a single 
blow, or not at all. The Eoman general had 
known that a six weeks ^ siege would weaken 
the morale of an attacking army, that all the 
available food-supply in the neighborhood 
would be exhausted, that—since there was little 
knowledge of sanitation among the Huns— 
camp fever would have probably begun. 

The battle of Orleans was short and needs 
little description. Attila, though still with 
about one hundred and eighty thousand men, 
engaged in the encirclement necessary for a 
siege, was vulnerable at all points. He had to 
face a simultaneous thrust by three armies 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 271 

amounting to one hundred thousand men, fresh 
and superbly led. At the same time, the gar¬ 
rison of Orleans, now reduced to some eight 
thousand men, made a sally. 

Attila was too able a general to give battle 
from a poor position. He raised the siege at 
once, devoting all his energies to returning his 
army in good order, and commanding the rear¬ 
guard himself. He fell back along the long road 
he had come, to join his reserve army at the 
great camp near Chalons-sur-Marne, and to 
select his own ground for the battle which 
should decide the fate of Europe—and perhaps 
the world. It would decide where the World 
Trail of the Huns should end. 

The generalship of Aetius shone out strongly 
at every point in this campaign. He had fore¬ 
seen that he would be able to raise the siege of 
Orleans with only one hundred thousand men, 
and he had risked his whole plan on waiting till 
every tribe in the three Gauls was ready. He 
had foreseen that Attila must retreat, and the 
line of that retreat. 

From every side, therefore, Eoman, Gaul, 
Goth, and Celt troops harassed and worried the 
rearward march of Attila. The Seventeenth Le- 



272 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

gion, garrisoned at Paris, together with ten 
thousand Bellovacs, decimated the Gepids 
which Attila had left to hold one of the Seine 
crossings. The Burgunds, under Gunthigar, 
hurried up through Besangon and Dijon and 
nipped the Huns from the south. 

At Mery-sur-Seine, the retreating army was 
forced to cross the Seine under a heavy cross¬ 
fire of arrows and catapult-stones. Under At¬ 
tila and Wolomit the Huns charged. Five times 
they were beaten back, but they succeeded 
finally in gaining the heights, and Attila’s 
army crossed, but it left fifteen thousand dead 
and half its plunder on the further bank. The 
army reached Chalons-sur-Marne, at last, ex¬ 
hausted with fighting and marching, and, above 
all, disheartened by defeat. The retirement 
from Orleans was the first defeat ever sus¬ 
tained by Attila in all his conquering career. 

It was now necessary for Aetius to attack 
from another direction. He was forced to go a 
long way round, behind Eheims, over a country 
where every farm had been burned, every mor¬ 
sel of food taken, every bridge destroyed. This 
two weeks’ delay enabled Attila to fortify his 
position and to choose his line of battle. On 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 273 

Sept. 3, Aetius arrived within three miles of 
Attila. The battle of Chalons-sur-Marne, one of 
the Decisive Battles of the World, was about to 
begin. 

As in many great battles of early times, there 
were numerous advance engagements. One of 
these is famous. Chlodomir, son of Chlodio, the 
first king of the Franks—^who should himself 
have been king and who had joined Attila in the 
hope of regaining his kingdom—found himself 
opposed in the battle-line by his uncle Mero~ 
vech, the King of the Franks, serving under 
Aetius. He flung himself on the usurper in a 
hand-to-hand combat. Both wounded each other 
so terribly that, weak from loss of blood, 
neither was able to stand upright, but, at the 
last, Merovech summoned enough strength to 
drive his sword into his nephew’s heart, and 
fell, terribly wounded, beside him. Chlodomir’s 
followers threw themselves on the Franks and 
Salians, five times their number, and were 
killed to a man. 

On the tenth of September, the Gauls—^who 
had circled to the northward—joined Aetius. 
Both armies were now ready. 

Attila’s battle-line was one hundred and 


274 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

twenty-five thousand men, his line of reserve 
seventy thousand men, camp and convoy, thirty- 
five thousand men, making a total force of two 
hundred and thirty thousand men, of which 
thirty-five thousand were cavalry. Attila, now, 
was using infantry in the Eoman fashion, hav¬ 
ing abandoned the Hun horsemen rushes of 
earlier and wilder times, such as he had used 
at the Battle of Tambov and the Flaming 
Sword. The right was commanded by Theodo- 
mir, the Ostrogoth; the left by Wolomir, his 
brother; the center by Attila, Ardaric the 
Gepid, and Goderedd. 

On the Eoman side, Thorismund, son of King 
Theodoric, held the right wing with forty- 
four thousand Visigoths; the center comprised 
fourteen thousand Alains under Sangiban, 
twenty-eight thousand Gauls under Gunde- 
bald, and fifty-three thousand Eoman legiona¬ 
ries, the whole under Aetius and Theodoric; the 
left wing was composed of twenty-seven thou¬ 
sand Franks under Merovech, who led, despite 
his wounds, and twenty thousand Burgunds 
under their king, Gunthigar. This made one 
hundred and eighty thousand men in the battle¬ 
line, of which nineteen thousand were cavalry. 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 275 

But the Roman reserves were fully sixty thou¬ 
sand men more, not including camp and con¬ 
voy. The Swiss Burgunds, Alamans, and 
Sarvates formed a further reserve. 

Attila’s force in the field, therefore, was 
slightly superior in numbers, but his reserves 
were less, and he was fighting in a hostile coun¬ 
try. In point of strategy, Attila and Aetius were 
equally matched. 

At two o’clock in the afternoon, the Roman 
army advanced, threatening a small hill which 
overlooked Attila’s forces; the Huns advanced 
also. Shortly before three o’clock the shock of 
battle came, simultaneously all along the line, 
for Aetius’ troops were mainly barbarians, 
better at attack than defense. 

The earth trembled and quaked as the armies 
clashed. The blare of trumpets, the smash of 
weapons and shields, and the cries of fury rose 
to a tumultuous and screeching tempest of 
sound. The battle raged all along the line, a 
melee described by a contemporary historian 
as ‘Hurious, obstinate and horrible.” For one 
whole hour there was no movement back or 
forth; neither side gave back a step. Men fell 
where they fought, and, dying, slashed upwards 


276 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

at the legs or bowels of their foes. The Rom-an 
legions met their equals. The Beiges of the 
Seventeenth Legion and the Celts of the Sixth, 
accounted among the most valiant legions of 
Rome, were cut to pieces where they stood, 
overpowered by the fury of the Ostrogoths and 
Huns. The Roman line was breaking at this 
point, when Merovech—^his wounds not yet 
closed from that direful duel with Chlodomir— 
hurled his Franks into the fight, himself at their 
head. 

The Huns gave way, foot by foot, for fifty 
yards, not more. Ardaric rallied his Gepids, 
and the Huns advanced again. Suddenly, no 
one knew why, a thrill ran through the Roman 
ranks, a presentment of victory, one of those 
blind mob instincts which so often decided the 
fate of battles in those old days, when every 
fight was a combat hand-to-hand. The whole 
Roman army surged forward. Attila, by super¬ 
human efforts, kept his line from breaking, and 
retired half a mile to his main line of defense. 
This gave Aetius the chance to seize the little 
hill, and the Roman cavalry cut off the Hun 
retreat to Verdun, but suffered heavily itself. 

Two hours’ fighting and twenty thousand 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 277 

dead was the result of the first phase. The Huns 
had retreated, but only to a stronger position. 

The second phase of the battle saw an 
even fiercer carnage. Aetius thrust at three 
points simultaneously. A small stream running 
through the plain became so full of blood that 
it ran gore. To quote the same contemporary 
historian: ^^the wounded who crept thither to 
cool their parched throats found themselves 
drinking the blood which had poured from their 
own veins.’’ For two long hours, the armies 
fought desperately across this rivulet. Attila 
forced the Romans back, at heavy loss. Attila 
sounded the retreat for a half-hour’s halt. The 
Huns had won the second phase; they had held 
their line. 

A flanking movement, led by Thorismund, 
crossed the stream higher up, wheeled, and cut 
heavily into Attila’s defenses. Aetius charged 
with the entire army again, and the charge car¬ 
ried. The stream was taken, the defenses over¬ 
passed, and the Huns fell back in some disorder, 
only held in hand by the generalship of Attila, 
Ardaric, and Goderedd. 

Aetius launched his cavalry in pursuit. King 
Theodoric himself at their head. But the Visi- 


278 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

goths had no experience with the horsemen of 
Attila, certainly the greatest cavalry leader of 
ancient times. With the great conqueror him¬ 
self at their head, the Flaming Sword glowing 
in his hand, the Huns turned; the evening light 
illumined as grim a cavalry slaughter as was 
ever seen in the old wild times of the young At¬ 
tila. Into the melee suddenly charged the com¬ 
bined squadrons of heavy cavalry from each 
of Attila’s three armies under Andagis, God- 
eredd, and Wolomir. This was Goderedd’s pet 
force, trained by him in Roman fashion. 

It charged as dusk was falling, only five thou¬ 
sand men strong, but the pick of the Hun heavy 
cavalry, at that time the finest in the world. 
Theodoric fell, pierced by a javelin hurled by 
the arm of Andagis, and the brave and wise 
King of the Visigoths—he who had sent back 
the body of Attila’s son in all honor—^was 
trampled under the charge and counter-charge 
of horses’ hoofs. Thus was the prophecy of 
Attila’s soothsayers fulfilled that ^‘the greatest 
foe shall go to the Land of the Dead this day.” 
Attila had hoped that it might be Aetius. When 
night fell, only a remnant of the Roman cavalry 
remained. 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 279 

Such was the mighty battle of Chalons-sur- 
Marne, sometimes known as the Battle of Mau- 
riac or the Catalaunian Fields. 

As after-events showed, it must be called a 
Homan victory, but there was no assurance of 
it upon the field of battle, that night. The losses 
were almost equal, at least thirty thousand dead 
on either side, with, perhaps, a slight advantage 
to the Homans. The wounded lay unheeded; 
there was no taking of prisoners. 

Attila had been driven from his line of de¬ 
fenses, and his army cut into three parts. But, 
so able a strategist was the Hun, each of these 
three armies had retired to a position so strong 
that it would require the whole Homan force to 
dislodge it. The weakest was the center, where 
was Attila, himself. 

The Homan army was terribly weakened by 
the death of King Theodoric. The Visigoths re¬ 
fused to fight again until their monarch had 
been buried with all honors. Aetius dared not 
wait. A day’s delay would give the Huns time 
to strengthen their already powerful positions. 
He decided to attack the Hun center and to dis¬ 
lodge Attila. 

That night, Attila ordered a huge funeral 


28 o in the time of attila 

pyre to be built, right in the middle of the for¬ 
ward line of attack. If the second day’s battle 
should turn adversely—as it certainly would 
have done had the Visigoths been in the fray— 
it was his declared purpose to light the pyre 
with his own hand and to climb on it himself, 
directing his troops from the burning pile un¬ 
til the flames consumed him. Never would he 
submit, nor allow himself to be slain by human 
hand! 

Next morning, Aetius attacked this third of 
Attila’s army, not more than sixty thousand 
men, with about eighty thousand, mostly dis¬ 
ciplined legionaries, Gauls and Celts. Four 
times the Eomans charged, four times they were 
beaten back, with terrific loss. Attila’s ven¬ 
geance was terrible. The funeral pyre was left 
a mile behind as the Huns smashed forward 
savagely, regaining much of the position they 
had lost the day before. The second day’s battle 
was clearly in favor of the Huns. 

For several days more the attacks continued, 
but scarcely more than skirmishes on a large 
scale. The Huns held firm. 

Yet it had become sure that Attila was 
doomed. The Hun army, in hostile country, was 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 281 

encircled by the distant tribes, mustered a 
month before by Aetins and which he had not 
yet found necessary to summon to the battle¬ 
line. Every day, the food-supply diminished. 
The Burgunds, and Alains, behind them, had 
cut otf the line of retreat to Germany; the 
Franks and the Alamans held the north; the 
Boman army, still of strength equal to that of 
Attila, could harass the Huns incessantly, and 
cut them up piecemeal when they beat a re¬ 
treat, as the lack of food would soon force them 
to do. But it was noticeable that, day by day, 
the Eoman attacks slackened. 

“King Attila,’’ said Goderedd—^he was al¬ 
most the only man who had dared approach 
the Hun since the retreat from Orleans—“the 
Eomans cannot defeat you. It is sure, also, 
that our army is not strong enough, now, to 
defeat all the peoples of the world, together. 
And, in a week’s time, there will be neither 
wheat nor cattle.” 

“Speak!” 

“Send me as your envoy to Aetius. He has 
shown himself a good foe; I believe him a good 
friend. More, I doubt much that he desires to 
continue the battle.” 


282 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

said Attila. ‘^But while there is wood 
to burn, remember that Attila will not be 
shamed!’^ 

Goderedd received from Aetius a ready and 
even an eager welcome. The Goth had judged 
rightly. The Eoman situation had become as 
dijfficult as that of the Huns. The Gauls and 
Celts, while keen to save Orleans, had little in¬ 
terest in Champagne, far from their own ter¬ 
ritories. The Visigoths realized that all menace 
to their kingdom was ended, and Thorismund, 
the new king, was afraid that his brothers 
would seize Toulouse in his absence. The Bur- 
gunds had no desire to bear the brunt of At¬ 
tila ’s rearward march as a retreating, vengeful, 
and destroying army. Attila’s retreat would lift 
all peril to Eome. 

‘T understand Attila’s desires,” said Aetius, 
talking confidentially to Goderedd as an old 
friend. ‘‘He knows that he is defeated. Pro¬ 
visions cannot reach him. In a few weeks he will 
be forced to a surrender, which, as you tell 
me, means his death by his own hand on a 
funeral pyre. That, I do not wish. Of his own 
will, he set me free when I was a hostage. If I 
save his pride, I save his life; it is but fitting. 


THE DECISIVE BATTLE 283 

‘^Hear, Goderedd! I will retire from the field, 
and leave him in possession. His army will 
hail him as victor, therefore, though he, and I, 
and you know that it is not so. I will give orr 
ders to the Alains, Alamans, Franks, and Bur- 
gunds that his line of rearward march be not 
impeded to the Ehine, and that he be allowed to 
cross unhindered, also that his army be pro¬ 
vided with food, for which he must pay. 

‘‘Yet you understand well, Goderedd, that I 
am here to defend the Empire. In return for the 
withdrawal and disbandment of the armies, I 
must have Attila^s word that he will never at¬ 
tack Gaul again.’’ 

“I will take it on myself, Aetius, to make that 
promise for Attila.” 

“Then to-morrow I draw off my troops and 
send the necessary couriers. In three days, the 
road will be clear to Scythia.” 

Less than a week later, the armies of Attila 
set forth on their long march eastward. 

Thus was forever stayed the Hun invasion of 
Western Europe. That battle marked the end 
of the great world trail which stretched its 
black and blasted line of death and destruction 
from Mongolia to Gaul. 


CHAPTEE XIV 


THE DEATH BRIDE 

On the long inarch homeward, Mirkhond 
died. The mage had gro-wn old, but he had never 
lost his power over Attila. His ruling passion— 
that of the desire for power—^was in him to 
the last. Almost his last words were: 

‘‘If I were not so near to death, I should go 
to Genseric, the Vandal!^’ 

He refused the ministrations of St. Loup, the 
bishop who had accompanied Attila, and, by 
sheer will-power, kept himself alive until the 
sunrise—expiring, almost happily, as the first 
rays shot over the eastern horizon. At heart, 
he had been a sun-worshiper, always. 

Attila heard this dying statement with a 
sinking at the heart. Forty years of close as¬ 
sociation with the Persian had taught him the 
accuracy of the mage’s predictions. If Mirk¬ 
hond were so ready to leave him, it was because 
the astrologer had seen that the star of Attila 

284 



THE DEATH BRIDE 285 

was setting, that the Mastery of the World was 
to pass to other hands. 

The conqueror knew it to he true. His defeat 
at Orleans and at Chalons-snr-Marne had 
robbed him of his confidence in his army; the 
dying prophecy of Mirkhond robbed him of 
confidence in himself. He tasted the bitterness 
of the vanquished. The mad flame of the Hun 
was a flame of straw, and was dying down fast. 

He reached Scythia with less than half the 
army with which he had set out, more savage, 
more ruthless, and more silent than ever. South 
Germany was a black ruin where he passed. In 
vain, from time to time, did Goderedd try to 
make appeal to the better instincts of the Hun, 
to the flashes of honor which he had shown in 
his days of power. All were gone, now. Attila 
had reverted to primal savagery. 

Gungis greeted him with evil news. On the 
death of Theodosius, Pulcheria, the emperor’s 
sister, had been called to the imperial throne, 
on the condition that she should take a consort. 
She had remained unmarried to the age of fifty 
years, for her country’s sake; now, as a matter 
of form, she married Marcianus, a man ad¬ 
vanced in years and a stern and famous soldier, 


286 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

as rigid in morals and as honorable as herself. 

Marcianns made an emperor of very differ¬ 
ent caliber from the weakling Theodosius. He 
dismissed all the useless officials of the court, 
put a stop to wasteful luxury, and, within a 
week of his crowning, ordered that no more 
tribute should be paid to the Huns. This was the 
easier, since Attila, far away on his attempted 
conquest of Gaul, could not retaliate. 

Gungis had not submitted altogether tamely. 
He had led several punitive expeditions into 
Thrace, but, though the young leader had been 
clever enough never to return empty-handed, he 
had sought only to satisfy his army with spoil, 
and to fill his own coffers. He had raided a 
score of unoffending towns, but he had not 
dared to face Marcianns. 

Sore to his inmost heart by his defeats in 
Gaul, infuriated by the cessation of tribute— 
which the Huns had come to regard almost as 
their natural right, and on which they depended 
—Attila gathered his armies anew, even rob¬ 
bing the hosts needed for guarding the Asiatic 
frontier to do so, and pushed angrily on Con¬ 
stantinople. 

Marcianns was a soldier, not a Byzantine 



THE DEATH BRIDE 287 

courtier, and the dread name of Attila did not 
frighten him. He accepted the gage of war, but 
would not risk a Hun approach to the Imperial 
capital. Attila was no longer the Attila of old. 
The spirit of destroying genius, which had 
breathed a united demon soul into vast roving 
hordes of murderers, had lost its creative fire. 
At Adrianople, and again at Hermanli, Mar- 
cianus drove back those Huns, that, for a cen¬ 
tury, the Eastern Empire had deemed invin¬ 
cible. 

Hdnoria, during the confusion after Theodo¬ 
sius’ death, had made her escape to Rome. At¬ 
tila remembered his betrothal, and looked again 
at the ring of the Caesars upon his finger. He 
had failed in Gaul, he had been beaten by that 
very Eastern Empire which he had most de¬ 
spised. Rome! He would conquer Rome! He 
would make the greatest city in the world one 
vast human slaughter-house and a sheet of 
flame! 

He set out with an army of three hundred 
thousand men, gathered from Scythia and the 
east, wild and undisciplined tribes from the 
frontier, an army very different in training and 
in character from the well-organized troops 


288 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

whicli lie had led into Gaul. This was the Hun 
host at its worst, brutal, savage, cruel, violent, 
murderous. He led them across the Julian Alps, 
himself the most barbarous murderer of them 
all. 

Milan, Verona, and Turin opened their gates, 
but their surrender served them little. They 
suffered as terribly as if they had resisted; 
pillage and slaughter, rapine and torture ran 
unchecked. Aquilea was not taken until after a 
long siege, and its destruction was so complete 
that it barely existed afterwards, save as a 
name. The inhabitants of Padua fled to the tiny 
islands of the marsh lagoons and there they 
built brushwood shelters—thus began Venice, 
one day to be Mistress of the Adriatic. 

Attila was eager to march straightway upon 
Eome, but he dared not leave Ravenna at his 
back, and Ravenna, in her ring of marshes, was 
almost impregnable. There were other hin¬ 
drances, also. His wild army, little disciplined, 
free to pillage on every side, became weakened 
by drunkenness and vice; malaria and camp 
fever wrought havoc in the ranks; so constant 
were minor misfortunes and petty troubles that 


THE DEATH BRIDE 289 

Attila was convinced that an evil fate overhung 
him. 

He was suspicious, too, of Aetius’ indiffer¬ 
ence to the onward march of the Huns. The 
great Roman general did not offer battle, and 
Attila suspected a trap. This was only partly 
true. Since Placidia^'s death, Valentinian had 
gone from bad to worse, and Aetius distrusted 
•him. The distrust was mutual, as was seen a 
year later, when Aetius asked the hand of the 
Emperor’s daughter for his son Gaudentius, 
and was slain by the Emperor himself as a re¬ 
sult of false reports spread by Petronius Maxi¬ 
mus, himself to be assassinated by Maximus, a 
year later. 

Strategically, too, Aetius desired to see At¬ 
tila break his power against the defenses of 
Rome. He could then fall upon the Hun army, 
in its disordered state, and make an end of 
Attila. 

Valentinian, however, feared for his capital 
and for his empire. The Emperor was still 
blinded by the terror of Attila’s name. Any 
treaty, however shameful, was better than dis¬ 
aster. To save the empire, and to save Rome, 


290 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

lie sent an embassy to Attila headed by no less 
a person than Pope Leo the Great, one of the 
strongest characters who ever sat on the papal 
throne. The embassy presented itself before At¬ 
tila upon the banks of the little river Mincio, 
not far from Ferrara. 

Never had Attila beheld such a blaze of pomp 
and splendor. The wealth of the empire, the 
fame of Rome, and the authority of all Chris¬ 
tianity faced a breaking Attila, and a disor¬ 
ganized and sickened army. 

Leo I. was the first of the great popes to 
consider himself immeasurably superior to all 
kings and emperors, the first to hold the doc¬ 
trine that all crowns must be given by his hand. 
To him, Attila was nothing more than a heathen 
and a barbarian with a lifetime of crime upon 
his head. He showed no deference to the con¬ 
queror in his approach. Robed in white, the 
triple tiara on his head, with four of his scarlet- 
robed cardinals beside him, the prelate opened 
speech in characteristic fashion. 

‘Tmpious man!’’ he began. ‘‘Have you so 
little wit as to set yourself against the Saints 
of Heaven? You dare to call yourself ‘The 



“You DARE TO CALL YOURSELF ‘ THE SCOURGE OF GOD.’ 

By Him shall you be scourged. Look in the 
SKY AND tremble! Pafire 









• ’ ’ <• . 'v 'L '■»'■ .‘•■t',‘/;"‘ 

' I > * , . . • .s, Imy.y -•'■• ■'•' '■ 







(i ? 


et . 




k*^* < f 


' .la- t 7 *- 0 


'^r:'i ■ 


r 


f ■ ^ ' « ^ - '*''•■ i I • * 

V ' ' ' - ■' ■'.*.”» *•»'.*• \j . 

• ''T i L>' ^ J . iV ■. 



' '• 


,.• » 


Il« 


> I*. 


m • ) I 


•rV-TT^ifi 

#.•* 


^' " • .,i^ 


-• 


kr A 


■ 




^ ■ 


‘■^♦■‘V * ■ 



;; •' ) 


, ® 




.-/’A* 


■■< { V 


• » <• 


. .! 








l' 




' ■ ' , , , '■ 
'•«?|V.A ;l>*‘ vVrX'i 

A . -' ■ =* 

% c ^ 




A ^ ’ 


• • ■ 'V'' * .a 

' »?,'* V 


'..p 3 |L,. a ‘ VT % ■ ■ *-^ 

^.,, .!.•:. -..v 3 “ 

:m 




, •ita.'* '*‘\ 

/• ■■• ’; .'^''"'» / • • *. 
» V 


>■ • 



vVtf 'tVitX 


.' * * 


I Vi' 




•iLv : 


1.31 


^ 9 


4.'" 






gf ^ 


V. 




I i 



i« ]• '* 

- - - ‘ . ' '1 3 : 

V W- ' ‘'^ 

iif^ ■'■- 


U ^•'4 


f 


THE DEATH BRIDE 


291 

Scourge of God. ’ By Him shall you be scourged. 
Look in the sky and tremble! ’ ’ 

Then, so says tradition, Attila, looking up¬ 
wards, saw the figure of St. Peter, wrathful, 
stretching from earth to sky, a sword of fire 
in his hand. 

‘T see,’^ the Pope went on, ‘^unnumbered 
devils in your ranks, whispering to your de¬ 
luded soldiers, urging them to march on to 
their deaths and welcoming them to hell. I see 
God^s own scourge whipping you to your death! 
Return and repent I It is the Church’s word 1 ’ ’ 
Strange speech for an ambassador! It shook 
the superstitious Attila to his vitals. To his 
fevered eyes—he was ill, himself—the figure of 
St. Peter loomed over him with the sword of 
Doom. 

He summoned up his courage to reply, but 
Leo the Great loosed upon him a torrent of fiery 
words. Possessed of extraordinary eloquence, 
absolutely convinced himself of his divine mis¬ 
sion, believing in all sincerity that he wielded 
the powers of Heaven and Hell in his own per¬ 
son, the Pope scorched and withered the shaken 
Hun with phrases that blistered mind and soul. 



292 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

The Attila of three years before would have 
cut off the Pope’s head with his own sword, 
those of the four cardinals as well, and would 
have ridden on, laughing stridently; the twice 
defeated Attila, no longer sure of himself, rid¬ 
ing under the burden of Mirkhond’s dying 
words, trembled before the Pope. 

He began to speak, haltingly, of a possible 
treaty. The Pope would hear none of it. 
Scarcely would he allow Attila to speak. 

‘‘Treaty!” he thundered. “What treaty can 
there be between God and a foul-souled and im¬ 
penitent infidel! Think you, Hun, that the 
Church will listen to a single word from your 
blasphemous lips? Do you know that the armies 
of the Church are ready to stamp your diseased 
carrion-eaters into the mire of these marshes? 
That I, alone, if God be willing, can bid the 
earth open its mouth and swallow all your 
host? Treaty! You will hear the terms I give 
you. You will hear them humbly, Hun, and 
ride back thankful that the Church thus gives 
you time to think of your load of sin and to 
repent! ’ ’ 

With such a man there could be no discus- 
eion. Leo the Great, having cowed Attila to 


THE DEATH BRIDE 


293 

subjection, dictated drastic terms. Once the Hun 
intervened— 

‘‘The dowry of Honoria—he began. 

“Honoria the wanton! Bitter as Dead Sea 
fruit has been her life on earth, bitterer still 
shall it be in the hereafter. You shall have her, 
Hun, in hell; and help her to spend her dowry 
of eternal fire! ’ ’ 

A beaten man, a shamed man, a man with the 
serpent of disgrace gnawing at his heart, Attila 
turned his armies next day back toward the 
plains of Scythia. Before his soldiers he kept 
up a show of fictitious courage, saying that he 
“could fight men, but not a lion and a wolf 
together” (Leo the Great and the Wolf of 
Rome). Yet the army recognized defeat, and 
retreated all the more willingly that the Pope 
—wdsely not pressing despairing men too far— 
permitted it to carry back to its own land the 
rich spoil gathered from the sacking of the 
cities of Northern Italy. 

Across the Julian Alps, again, crept the hu¬ 
miliated army. For weeks together, Attila did 
not utter a single word, his only close com¬ 
panion being Goderedd, who never left his side. 
The one-time Master of the World was terribly 


294 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

changed. He, who, his whole life long, had been 
abstemious and of simple habits, drank more 
and more heavily. The command of the army 
devolved upon Goderedd. 

Ardaric, the Gepid, who had been present at 
the papal embassy, and who had heard the 
scathing denunciations of the Pope, drew off 
with his army as soon as the Danube was 
crossed, and, in his own country, began to plot 
against Attila. The results of that plotting 
found fruit the direful year following, when 
Ellak, trying to keep the dismembered Hun em¬ 
pire from utter ruin, was slain in battle with 
Ardaric. Gungis died in the same fight, and 
Goderedd as well. Ardaric, remembering the 
Goth^s oath, buried all three in the same grave, 
for the Gepids did not burn their dead. 

But that grim happening was not yet. For a 
few months still, the Empire of the Huns ex¬ 
isted. The name of Attila held all the rising 
revolts from* daring to show their heads. It was 
in Dacia (Bulgaria and Eoumania) that Attila 
pitched his last camp. 

The reason was a strange one. The Dacians, 
warriors of the finest type, had always been a 
thorn in the side of the Eoman Empire, and, two 


THE DEATH BRIDE 


295 


centuries before, had won their independence 
and held it in the teeth of all invasions. They 
had accepted Attila’s overlordship and had 
paid tribute, but they never sent a man to his 
armies. Now, they resented bitterly the pres¬ 
ence of the defeated conqueror. A detachment 
of Huns pillaging near Sardica (Sofia) was set 
upon by the Dacians and wiped out utterly. 

For a moment, the old fire flashed up in At- 
tila. At the head of a small body of troops, 
horsemen all, he struck across the country, 
burning and slaying as he went, but with heavy 
loss, for the Dacians were superb in guerrilla 
warfare and the mountainous districts were ill- 
fitted for cavalry. 

In one such village, not far from his main 
camp, Attila saw a trooper of his host drag¬ 
ging from a hut a red-haired girl of surpassing 
beauty. He struck otf the warrior ^s head and 
bade his followers bring the girl to his tent. 
Her name was Ildico. 

Rhekan, the mother of Attila’s three legiti¬ 
mate sons, was long dead; Honoria had ever 
been but a mirage. Mirkhond^s prophecies of 
the evil fate awaiting his two remaining sons 
caused the Hun conqueror to fear that his line 


296 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

would become extinct. He decided to marry 
Ildico, for his soothsayers prophesied that ‘Tl- 
dico would give him that which no woman had 
ever given him before. Attila took this to 
mean that she would give him sons who would 
succeed him. The prophecy proved true, but 
not as he interpreted it—far, very far, from 
that! 

For the week before the marriage, Attila 
seemed almost his old self. He spent each day 
in the saddle, routing the Dacians everywhere 
he went. The Flaming Sword flashed its ven¬ 
geance far and wide. Little he thought and little 
he cared that these were Ildico’s kinsmen whom 
he was slaying. Goderedd’s protests and warn¬ 
ings he laughed away, with his harsh and 
croaking laugh. 

The day of the wedding came. Not a single 
Dacian chief appeared. 

The portents were unfavorable. The horse 
which was bearing Ildico stumbled, and almost 
threw its rider. The soothsayers gave evasive 
answers. One, more daring than the rest, said 
curtly: 

‘‘There is but little difference between a 
white girl and a ghost. 


THE DEATH BRIDE 


297 

They were his last words. Attila brained him 
with the Sw.ord. 

The banquet was wild and rude. The wine 
ran freely. 

Ildico, crowned, covered with jewels, sat 
white and silent. Pale of skin she was, looking 
all the paler in her gorgeous robes and with 
her long and glorious hair, with all the hues of 
sunset in it. Her arms and neck were bare, the 
skin seeming deathly white amid the swarthy 
Huns. Never was seen a whiter bride. There 
was something spectral in her whiteness and 
her silence. 

Around the banquet-table wheeled in endless 
circling a triple ring of horsemen, fully armed, 
excited with drink, shouting lustily, 

‘‘Attila! Attila! To marriage and to battle, 
Attila!’’ 

Goderedd watched the king, watched Ildico, 
and liked it not. If only Mirkhond were there, to 
read the girl’s inmost thoughts! But Mirkhond 
was not there. He lay in a lonely grave beside 
the distant Rhine, mth Genseric’s name the last 
upon his lips. 

Ghostly white was Ildico. To all the courtly 
words of Goderedd she answered nothing. The 


298 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

Goth, despite himself, shivered. Who, hut 
Death, would wed a ghost? 

Attila was unnerved, bewitched. This pale 
creature had roused in him a savage passion, 
utterly alien to his usual coldness where women 
were concerned. The King was wild, exultant, 
triumphant. He shouted, laughed, drank, and 
even jested. 

Goderedd watched him soberly. So behaved 
men whom the Goths called ‘Hey,’’ men on 
whom the shadow of a doom was falling. 

The feast was nearly ended when the four 
chosen warriors leapt from their horses to lead 
Ildico to the bridal tent. 

She walked before them, slowly, head erect, 
regardless of the thunderous and drunken 
shouting and the ribald jests. Never, the Huns 
all swore, had a lovelier woman been seen. 

Suddenly, some one in the host cried in the 
Latin tongue: 

“Hail and Farewell, Attila!” 

The words brought back old memories of 
Eome. 

Attila leapt to his feet. The Sword flashed 
out. The battle-fire thrilled anew through his 


veins. 


THE DEATH BRIDE 


299 


^‘Rome! Enough, of these Dacian mountains! 
Rome! Warriors, we ride again on Rome! An 
end to all Christian magic! Death to all Chris¬ 
tian priests! Tear every Christian limb from 
limb! Summon my armies! Rome! This night, 
alone, for revelry! To-morrow we ride on 
Rome! ’ ’ 

His body-guard, men who had ridden with 
him all their lives, hard-bitten veterans who had 
fought by his side in Gaul, flashed into wild en¬ 
thusiasm. 

This was their Attila, their dread-inspiring 
conqueror! The savage blood within them 
boiled. 

In Attila’s voice was the old magnetic ring. 
The Flaming Sword glowed in his upstretched 
hand like an emblem of slaughter. 

^^The Sword!^^ they yelled. ‘^The Sword!’’ 

The power, the fire, the dynamic wizardry of 
supreme grip upon the hearts of men, de¬ 
scended upon Attila anew like a diabolic flame. 
The lines of weariness left his face. His eyes 
glowed as in the old days when no human being 
could sustain his glance. 

All felt it. All knew it. Attila, the real Attila, 
was back. The last two years were at once for- 


300 IN THE TIME OF ATTILA 

gotten. As of old, they felt that they could not 
fail. The blood-lure seized them. 

‘ ‘ Death to all Christians! On to Eome! ’ ^ 

One of them, shouting, raised his ax and 
crashed it into the skull of the priest who, an 
hour before, had married Attila to Ildico. 

The Hun king roared approval. 

‘‘A good stroked’ he shouted. ‘^One night 
more, Huns all, and then to Eome 

In a delirium of clamor, shield clashing 
shield, the war-cries ringing furiously, they es¬ 
corted the King to his tent. 

Goderedd followed closely. A dull presenti¬ 
ment hung over him. Many a time before had he 
watched outside the tent of Attila, when peril 
threatened. That night, he would watch again. 

Not far away, roared the mad riot of the 
banquet. 

Inside the tent, the voice of Attila. Goderedd 
listened well, but never once did he hear the 
voice of Ildico in reply. 

Later, stillness. 

The night long, stillness. 

Morning. 

With dawn the eager horsemen came clatter- 


i 


THE DEATH BRIDE 


301 

ing with shouts of triumph to greet the new- 
wedded king. 

^ ‘ Rome! Lead us, Attila! Rome! ’ ’ 

The curtains of the tent parted. 

At the opening stood Ildico, her long red hair 
unbound, white-robed, but with her feet dyed 
red. 

A breath of terror seemed to come from the 
tent. The horses whinnied; the men reined back. 

There was a dreadful silence. 

Goderedd brushed by Ildico. 

The shaft of morning light shot clear to the 
bridal couch, stained a dark red, and shone on 
a blackening pool upon the ground. 

The soothsayers had told true. Ildico had 
given the mighty Hun ‘^what no woman had 
ever given him before.’’ 

Upon the couch lay Attila, the Flaming 
Sword still deep in his heart,—dead! 


THE END 



* 








I 




I 

i 


'i 

! 

■> 

i 




i 



























































































































